Handcuffed: A Quarter Quell Story
by LemonHatshepsut
Summary: What happens when you lock two tributes together at the wrists, and toss them in the arena? Oh, and don't forget; there are twice as many of them this year. Katniss and Peeta are mentors to the 75th Hunger Games, after returning from the Capitol and successfully quelling the rebellion. The question now is whether they can keep their tributes alive or not.
1. Chapter 1

_Author's note: Okay, so here goes the summary! This is an OC story, 100% of the time from **Marina Valli's** POV. With an exception in chapter 76 or so, but that's a LONG way away. She (Marina) is a semi-merchant girl living in District Twelve, and the rest you learn throughout this chapter, for the most part. Katniss and Peeta have gotten back from the 74th Annual Hunger Games, and now they are off at the Victory Tour. This story as a whole is what I personally (and from what I gather, others agree) should have happened instead of another Hunger Games with Katniss and Peeta as members. I've worked really hard on this, and it's taken me a while, but right now it is about halfway done, I just haven't posted that all. I'd REALLY appreciate feedback, however if all you're going to say is you think Katniss' offer (you'll see later) is OOC, I know that already, so unless you have a better idea, I don't need feedback on that particular aspect._  
><em>Sorry, this is getting pretty rambly, I know, but I also need to inform anyone reading this that this is my first story, so if it's not exactly what you're used to, I apologize, because this was written on another site in a format closer to that.<em>

"Rhino Rina!" Someone shouts behind me, and I grimace, ducking my head down, clutching my book closer to my chest, and beginning to walk faster.

The rain is only now starting to come down. Just my luck. It's as if it was waiting for school to let out, just to catch me in its wet rage. I pull my leather jacket open, and stuff the book inside, to protect it from the wetness.

"Why going so fast, Rhino?" Another voice laughs behind me. "Is there an all-you-can-eat-banquet somewhere?"

I ignore their taunts as best as I can, but after a particularly daring boy calls out something about my mother, I spin on my heels, and walking backwards, give them the finger. They just laugh at my receding back after I turn back around, but at least now I feel a slight satisfaction.

I stew inside as I stalk the rest of the way through town back towards my house. Every day. Every single day, the same thing. School itself is fine. But after school, if I were to stay back with a teacher to inquire about a lesson- forget about it. The teasing starts up again.

They're all just jealous, I reassure myself, not very successfully. Jealous that I have food and they don't. Well, not like there's much else to be jealous of about me. Short, fat, friendless me. I'm 16, as of a month ago, but that doesn't change the fact that they all still treat me like I'm in elementary school. Just because none of them can eat shouldn't mean I can't.

I'm not a Seam kid. Never have been, never will be. No, I live in a house above a thrift shop, right across from the bakery. I like that bakery, always smelling so nice, and the beautiful cakes decorating the windows... I stop myself before I can finish the thought. My mother says I shouldn't think about food unless it's mealtime. It's not good for me, because then I'll get hungry. Instead, I turn my attention to the next thing I think of.

Peeta Mellark's family runs the bakery. I feel so bad for him- having to go through the horrors of the Games like he did. It's nice he has Katniss, though. Gale would swear to anyone who'd listen that it was fake, they were doing it for the cameras, but I think at least Peeta was being truthful. Katniss on the other hand... well, she's Katniss. Hard to decipher. Thinking of the pair of them, and how distant they've seemed since the camera crews cleared out, I almost trip over a branch in the road. My arms fly out to catch myself, and I end up catching my body just before my face was to land in a puddle. The effort is exhausting, and I flop forwards, my body disregarding the success of catching myself.

I get a face full of mud, and choke and splutter on the dirty water on top. I push myself up quickly, pushing the long black ponytail, now dripping wet, out of my face. Wiping the water out of my eyes, I sit up, and find to my dismay, the book has fallen out of the waterproof niche of my jacket.

Grabbing the soggy history record, I just glare at the offending book, before throwing it down the street in frustration. Nothing ever goes right for me. I pick myself up with a huff of anger and start off down Main Street again, not caring about how wet I get anymore. I walk past the History book, leaving it to be washed away in the rain. I can just pay for another one next week anyway.

I reach the thrift store run by one of Greasy Sae's sons, Parker, and push the door open, setting the small bell above it tinkling. Parker's been really good to our family. He doesn't have one of his own, other than siblings and his mother. Apparently him and my father were close in school, so we're kind of like his adopted family. He goes somewhere else to sleep every night anyway, so he had no problem renting out the top of his store to us. We're practically one of the merchant families, now. Parker enters from the back of the store, rubbing his hands on a dirty apron, and just raises an eyebrow at me.

"Don't ask," I say, dejectedly starting for the door that leads to the stairwell up to my home.

The sign hanging there hasn't changed, unsurprisingly. _Do not enter, for employees only_. While I'm not an employee, I know that this isn't even meant for them, and ignoring it, I start up the stairwell, taking them two at a time.

As I reach the landing, I stop, panting slightly. The stairs are tall. Or, maybe they are. I can't remember a time where that climb hasn't winded me though, so does it make a difference? I just like telling myself the stairs are only tall.

I slide the small brass key into the rusted lock, and as usual, it takes a few tugs to get the door to open for good. I slam it closed behind me, and relish in the heat of the air around me. Our house is heated. We don't have any huts like in the Seam, this is a building. A real nice building, too. My father works in the mines- he has for a long time. But it's because of how good he is with birds, and trains the canaries who go in to test bad air, that he's been promoted to where he is now. I wouldn't doubt he actually owns parts of those mines. Not that I ever ask. I don't care all that much. Father isn't always that nice to me.

My father isn't home now. He doesn't get home until late at night. My mother, though is usually home about now. She actually works with Katniss' mother, helping her get the medicines and things she needs, as well as tending to the patients. It's only since Katniss got back from the Games, about 6 months ago, that her mother started accepting help. Apparently my mother had known her as a child, because even though she wasn't the first to offer, she's the only one who got accepted.

As a result, like when I skip school and go to work to help her with her job, I've gotten to know the Everdeens much better. Prim, the younger sister is absolutely adorable. She's the sweetest thing I've ever met- and completely innocent. Her and that cat are entertaining to watch- to say the least, and she absolutely loves the thing to death. Sometimes, I get pangs of gut-wrenching guilt over that cat- nobody loves me like that. Stupid, isn't it? To be jealous over a cat?

Katniss' mother is a dear. When she's in healing-mode, you'd better clear out, but off-duty, she's really a nice person. Of course I feel for her, for the loss of her husband those years ago, although I can't really relate. I think if my dad died I wouldn't be able to tell the difference. Not even through money. My mother has everything set up so that if he dies in a mining accident, she'd just take over the shipping part of his job.

Katniss herself doesn't talk much. She's usually either not there while my mother's working, or else out hunting. When she is, she certainly doesn't make any attempts to socialize with me. And I accept that, it's not like she invited me over her house, her big, beautiful house in the Victor's Village. No, I'm just there with my mother, working on sick people in her kitchen. Yes, decidedly creepy. I understand her aversion.

I look down, and am startled to find a chilled plate, with cold cake sitting on my lap, and a fork of the stuff halfway to my mouth. I freeze, shocked, and think hard about how I got here. I'd been thinking as I came in. Was it really possible my body had instinctively gone over to the fridge, taken this out, and sat myself down to eat it?

The fork falls from my hands, hitting the plate with a clink, before dropping onto the couch, bouncing a little, and then onto the old tiled floor with another, louder clatter. I stood, letting the still-cold plate slide off my lap, and onto the floor. The rest of the cake was crushed underneath the glass, but I disregarded it, stepping over the mess, as if in a trance.

My feet pulled me directly towards my parents' room, where I knew a full-length mirror sat, in a corner. This couldn't be happening. Not to me. Not here, in _this_ District, of all places. Where I'd grown up just like everyone else. A merchant kid, in essence, but not overfed by any means. And then my father got that promotion.

I was locked in my own gaze, once the mirror was in sight. My gray eyes, just like most of the Seam kids', were normal. A little wide, because I was so startled. I hesitated to look down at my body, to confirm my fears. Instead, I observed the black hair hanging in a long, dark curtain around my face. The ponytail had come out somewhere between the puddle and entering this room, allowing my foot-long locks to drip sullenly beside my face.

I had surprisingly full lips, for a District 12 girl. Most of us had thin, wide mouths, that while didn't do much for appearances, were good for kissing. Mine on the other hand, were fuller, and less wide. My nose was smaller than the District girls' noses as well, with a sloping bridge, rather than an arc. I was technically half merchant, half Seam. My father was a merchant kid growing up.

Turning my attention further downwards, I blinded myself mentally and examined the clothes I had worn to school. Worn jeans, a little tight, wide on bottom, and above that I still had the leather jacket -previously my mother's- and a collared short sleeved shirt. Removing the imagined disability, and -probably for the first time in months-, allowed myself to look at my body. _Really_ look at it.

I was... fat. Really, really fat. I hadn't even noticed it before. I'd been denying it, denying what the people at school said about me, denying that the stairs were harder to climb every time I tried, and denying that the curves I had were all rolls of fat, dripping off me like honey. The shock of the moment was preventing me from moving, even to curl into a ball on the ground, and just die there. I knew I'd weighed over 150 lbs. for a while now. Known it, and done nothing about it. But I was used to the growth spurt sucking the weight right back off me- accumulation hadn't been part of the equation until recently.

Frozen in place still, all I could think about was how this wasn't happening. How it couldn't have been happening. Not to me. Not me, who was born and raised a District Twelve, poor just like all those other kids, and skinny like them as well, until my father got that promotion.

* * *

><p>A month can do a lot for a person, and a lot more for a person's body.<p>

I found that out the hard way- although it was only hard for my body. My mind, meanwhile, was absolutely soaring with happiness. I told my mother I'd wanted to take some time off to work on my weight. At first, she had just stared at me. I wondered what was going through her head. Then she just beamed, and hugged me, and said I could take all the time off I needed, that I didn't need school anyway. Nothing there was as important.

The school curriculum consisted of Capitol-based teachings, and coal research for those of us who would eventually go to work in the mines. I had no use for learning about the Capitol, or the coal-based information, because I would be taking over my father's business as soon as I turned 21, or he died. Whichever came sooner. And right now, school was more of a torture than help to me, and my mother and I both agreed my time was better spent pulling myself out of the metaphorical rut I was currently in.

So, she told the school I was deathly ill, and I might return once I was feeling better. They inquired about where she was going to get medical help from, and she'd said Katniss' mother was treating me. We only let them in on the secret- the Everdeens and my parents were the only ones who knew I was thinning up, instead of dying of some strange illness.

As a result, I couldn't exactly leave the house. As a compromise between not leaving and not being caught, I left only during school hours, and I tucked my long black hair back in another leather coat, but a hooded one, provided by my mother. I carefully avoided busy streets like Main Street, often just crawling under the fence, and lifting rocks in the copse of trees right beside it, further down the way.

Katniss' mother gave me some herbs to help the hunger pangs, and Prim even offered to come train with me, but I declined that last offer politely. When Katniss got back from her Victory Tour, and heard about my plan, she actually came to my door, one rainy day, and asked to speak to me.

Tying my hair back up in a ponytail high above my head, I glanced at myself in the mirror in my mother's room. I was definitely improving. The folds of fat hanging off my midriff a month previously were now gone, replaced by a large muffin-top on my torso, and my thighs were shrinking gradually. My upper arms were losing a little of their usual flab as well, from the rock-lifting I'd been doing. Primitive, yes, but in District Twelve, workout machines weren't exactly easy to come by.

I left the room and went to the door, gripping the knob tightly. My mother had called only minutes before, saying Katniss was here, and she wanted to see me. I had wondered why briefly, but then I decided it didn't much matter. Katniss, the one who'd won the Hunger Games, wanted to see me. It was dreamlike, to say the least, even though improbable. I knew she had an aversion of me. The fact that I came and went in her house from time to time, and had always had enough to eat, if not as much as people in the Capitol.

Turning the knob slowly, I peer out, and see the girl herself sitting with my mother, on our couch, apparently sipping tea. Her ebony hair is done back in its trademark braid, which has become increasingly popular since her victory in the Games. I marvel at how she had suceeded in that feat- she was only a year older than me. She'd been my age when she had been forced into the Games.

"Marina, darling!" My mother calls, having seen me peeking out from the doorway.

I step sheepishly out from behind the doorframe, straightening up and twirling the ponytail between my fingers behind me. I think I am blushing, but can't be certain. Katniss twists around to glance at me, and smiles reassuringly when she notices how nervous I must look. It isn't exactly reassuring, but I can see she meant it to be, and I relax a little. So I wasn't the only one not comfortable being here.

"You wanted to talk to me?" I ask, shifting from foot to foot awkwardly.

"You look good," she notes, ignoring my question. "I've... uh, I've seen you lifting rocks, out in the forest near the fence."

"Oh," I say stupidly.

"I wasn't spying or anything," she starts hastily, "I just... noticed it. And when my mother told me what you were doing, I just put two and two together..."

This conversation is going nowhere and fast, and she knows it.

"What I meant to say was... I was wondering if you wanted to get some training tips from me," Katniss finished, and then dropped off into silence.

The whole room freezes. My mother is still staring at Katniss, and so am I, and she just looks down, not liking the attention.

"I would love it," I breathed, shattering the silence.

"Oh," She says, looking up at me, clearly a little startled. "That's great! We can uh... start tomorrow?"

"Yeah," I manage to say, waking up a little further. "Tomorrow."

Another silence ensues, and Katniss just glances around awkwardly, before her gaze lands on our clock. "Oh! I have to go, I promised Prim I'd help her make goat cheese today. So I'll see you tomorrow, Marina," she says, standing and starting for the door.

"It's Rina," I mutter, but she's already out the door and it's swinging shut behind her.

I cross the room and pick up her teacup from the coffee table, taking it into the kitchen. She hasn't even touched it, so I drained the cup in one sip, before leaving the china in the sink. I find the taste dry and bitter- she didn't even ask for sugar. This is so unlike my mother- not offering, then demanding guests put sugar and milk in their tea.

"That was..." My mother starts, still not having moved from the couch. "That was nice of her."

"Yeah," I agree. "Really nice." Especially considering she doesn't really know me, and I can tell she doesn't like me in her house.

* * *

><p>Hell doesn't even come close to describing the sickness that has come over me since I've realized what Katniss' offer really means. I've been up vomiting nearly all night with nervousness- she actually wants to train with me. I will actually be training with someone who is a District hero, in essence, and who has been on national television two times, for over three weeks on both occasions. <em>Katniss Everdeen<em> offered to train with me.

And as if that hadn't been mind-blowing enough, her mother had called later, -one of the benefits of having a phone in the Victor's Village- and asked if I wanted to stay over at their house, rather than risking the travel to the Victor's Village every morning and evening.

Then I realized another thing. She really meant to go through with this. And now Mrs. Everdeen was offering to let me stay in their house indefinitely so we could train every day, all day? This was quickly becoming a lot more than I'd anticipated when I had agreed to Katniss' offer.

So, here I sat, over the toilet bowl, losing my dinner, lunch, and hell, maybe my breakfast was making an appearance as well.

"Honey?" My mother's voice calls through the bathroom door. "Are you alright?"

I freeze, my hands still gripping the toilet lid, and hardly breathing. I was hoping she wouldn't be up. "Yeah?" I say, hoping the sound of my voice will be enough to make her leave.

"Honey, I know you're nervous about training with Katniss," she starts, and I hear a small creak as she leans back against the door, getting comfortable. "But you shouldn't be this nervous, I mean, this is a good thing, right?"

I sigh, before standing, and wiping my hands off on a towel beside me. The appearance of my mother has cleared the anxiety I'm having- the fact that she's just as nervous as I am, except her for me, somehow calms me. "Yeah mom, it's a good thing," I agree, flushing the toilet to drown out her response. "I'm going to go to bed now. Good night."

The words are final, and she grasps that I don't want to talk about it at the moment. She bids me goodnight as well, before I hear her bare feet padding back down the hallway, into her own room. Although I'm tired, I know if I were to try right now, I wouldn't be able to fall asleep. I'm much too nervous for the coming day to even bother. Instead I cross my room, opposite the bathroom, and go over to my window.

My light is off along with the electricity for the moment, so I have no inhibitions about opening my curtains tonight. There shouldn't even be many people out, but the lack of human contact other than my parents and the Everdeens is starting to go to my head. Not like I ever had many friends before, but it's still unusual, even for me, to be contained like so for this long.

The streetlights are off, as usual, because we rarely get power. Since Katniss' victory, and then briefly after the Victory Tour, it had been coming on more often, but it soon fell back into the same disrepair of before the Games, with only a few hours of power a day. Most of the shopkeepers light their stores with candles, at night, so if there are any people out and about, the wares are visible. The street is slick from the rain earlier in the evening, and the light coming from Parker's shop below me bounces off the wet pavement, making the rocks in the road light up, dancing and glittering like jewels.

I can make out a lone figure across the street, leaning against the side of the bakery. I wonder what the baker's wife would say if she saw this man loitering like so- she wasn't one to deal with fools, that much I knew. I liked buying pastries and bread while the baker was in the building, not his wife, more often than not.

The man seems to be just standing there, unmoving, and I briefly wonder if he's died of cold or hunger, propped up there. The thought flees my mind as quickly as it came. Nobody would dare die on the side of Mrs. Mellark's bakery, oh no. They might find themselves brought alive by her just to be murdered all over again. The thought makes me chuckle, and I freeze, careful to not make a noise again, in case my mother were to hear.

After a few seconds I decide she's really asleep, and look back out the window. The man is gone suddenly, and I peer in both directions, searching for him. He's only just started walking, and I see him coming towards Parker's shop. I freeze again, wondering if he'd seen me, while I was listening to see if my mother was awake. Dispelling the thought quickly calms my nerves a little, but the scene is frozen in my mind.

I can't help but think the man had in fact seen me peering out my window at him, and was coming to inquire about me at that very second. However, I also have an overactive imagination at times, and I'm prone to making up secret backstories for people I see in the street, going about normal business. Going against my gut instinct, I pulled away from the window, going over to my twin-sized bed, and curling up in it, pulling the covers quickly over myself.

I shiver despite the warmth they offer- I'll not likely soon forget that man. The stories playing through my mind won't allow it, and even if they would, I think I've been just a little to rattled tonight to even consider a good night's sleep. The best I can do is try, and hope I get decent rest for tomorrow's surely vicious training.

* * *

><p>Notes have started coming from my classes, this morning. I suppose after a month of being "almost dead," the teachers start thinking you won't get better, and it would be a brilliant idea to have all your classes send you "get well" cards.<p>

Naturally, none of them make me feel any better. There are those nice kids, who are always kind to people, but kindness only goes so far for, who have written the sweetest cards. Asking me how I'm doing, wishing me the best, and hoping for my health. The generic, poorly written cards might have made me feel a little better, if I had actually been dying.

Then there were those kids who I never really knew, and just pulled whatever they could think of off the top of their heads and wrote it down. I accept this. I would be the same way, in their situation. They don't know me. Then again, I don't think any of them really do. As far as these kids know, I'm the fat girl in the hallway. They don't mean it, but they write that they hope I get better as well.

And lastly, and most horribly, the cards from those boys who tease me as I leave every day. The girls who whisper about me while I'm still in the room. I don't even open the card, if I know it's from someone who doesn't like me. I just take them out from the others, rip the envelopes as if I'd opened them, and put them on the bottom. I have no need to be called Rhino. Not now.

I'm only about three quarters of the way through the cards when I get one that really sticks with me. One that sounds sincere. It's from a girl I don't even know, who's 13. Her name is Rosabelle Cartwright, apparently. I know the Cartwrights, vaguely. They run the tailor-shoe shop in town. Since the father is the tailor, and the mother makes shoes, they just combined the two. Their mother, Antha, has to be the only Seam-born woman living in the merchant's section I know, other than my mother. She's a little on the large side, like me, because she's married to one of the merchants.

Their older daughter, Delly, has dirty-blonde hair, and always smiling. She's got the same body problems as I do, I think. Since she lives in the merchant section too, apparently her parents make enough money to feed her. She's got to be the single-nicest person on earth, though, don't get me wrong. Her card was a nice one as well. It just didn't make as much of an impression on me.

I know they have two sons. The first is younger than Delly, but older than Rosabelle. I've seen him around school. He has Delly's semi-blonde hair as well. I don't actually know much about him, though. Except that I think he's a year younger than me. Then there's the older one, Matrix. God, he's a pushover. He doesn't go to school anymore- he's 18 now.

Apparently just before Katniss left for the Victory Tour, she'd had Capitol doctors examining her, to make sure she was healthy. Matrix had gone and done something stupid, and one of the doctors saw him as well. It must have been something really big and really stupid, because nobody knew exactly why one of the Capitol doctors would see a District Twelve boy.

They said he wasn't right in the head. Called him "a danger to himself and others," and after that, they let him drop out of school. He hasn't been slotted to work in the mines yet, either. Other kids, once they graduate high school, go into the mines for certain, unless they have another job. Not Matrix. He just wanders around the Hob, selling animals that nobody has any idea where he's picked up. I suppose, though, with all day to yourself, you might pick up something to do like hunting.

He's a snark, though. Always had been in school, and is in the Hob. I see him there from time to time, when I sneak out to lift rocks. He's always acting so superior to everyone else. Even though he's the same skinny, underfed boy as the rest of the kids here. Somehow, his mental issues make him "special". I can't help but despise him for it. That and the fact that he doesn't have to work, doesn't have to go to school.

So I suppose Rosabelle must be his and that brother and Delly's little sister. I've seen her before, she does look about 13. Although while Delly and the other boy got the blonde hair and pale complexion of her father, Rosabelle's got the same black hair and gray eyes as the rest of the Seam kids, as does Matrix. His is just greased up with what I can only assume is animal fat.

Rosabelle seems nice enough, regardless. Her 18 year old, mental brother on the other hand, I can hardly hold against her. The card is sweet. She says she hopes I get better, and that my family is handling everything alright. Perhaps she could send me a basket of fruit sometime, would I like that? And if I need anything, her and her family will be open to help me. I can sense the sincerity in her words- she wasn't faking like the kids from my classes.

I decide right then it's safe to write back to this girl. To tell her that I'm not dying, but her card has touched me, and I feel I can trust her with my secret. I'm honestly sick of only talking to my parents and Mrs. Everdeen. Although, I could hardly know now what trouble this might get me into.

* * *

><p>I write back to Rosabelle almost instantly, and I've only just sealed the envelope -clean, and not sooted like most of the class letters I'd received- when there comes a knock on the door. I leave the envelope on the counter in the kitchen, where my mother's almost certain to see it. She's gone already, off to work with Mrs. Everdeen, so I'm not sure who could be at my door.<p>

Just as a precaution, I wrap a heavy scarf around my neck, and crack the door open only an inch, so I can see who is knocking before they can see me. Through the crack I can see it's a feminine face, eyeing me curiously, with gray eyes, and ebony hair.

"Katniss!" I say, a little taken-off-guard by her appearance. I'd expected to go to her house, rather than have her bring me.

Ripping off the scarf, I throw it behind me carelessly, not bother to watch where it lands. I open the door for her, and she steps in, nodding a greeting. "You ready?" she asks, getting right to the point. I suppose that's for the better. Neither of us seem to be all that great at socializing.

"Yes. Are we going to the Victor's Village?" I ask, grabbing my hooded leather coat from the couch.

"No, not directly," she says mysteriously. "I want to show you something first."

"Ok," I say, partially confused, but I pull my hood, and allow her to lead me out.

It's a long walk. And the fact that summer is approaching and I'm wearing a leather coat isn't helping much. Sweat is dripping off me in sheets by the time we reach an area on the fence where she's clearly familiar- she pulls up a little of the chain link at the bottom, and slips underneath. I just watch her for a moment, wondering if she's waiting for me to follow, but she just keeps walking.

I sigh quietly, before ducking under the hole as well, but freeze as my jacket catches on one of the protruding wires. I tug at it with my left hand, unable to reach the awkward spot, halfway up my back, with my better hand. It rips free, and I flinch, but keep crawling, until I'm safely on the other side of the fence.

Looking back, I see about an inch of the leather has torn off, and remains stuck to the fence. I take the offending wire in my hands and carefully, so carefully, tug the little bit of leather off, until it's resting in my palm. I stow it in the pocket and stand, and see Katniss watching me approvingly.

"That's good," she said. "Not leaving traces of your presence. We might make a hunter out of you yet."

I was about to tell her I had no intentions of becoming a hunter, but just shut my mouth. My muffin-top stomach proved that I didn't have to hunt to survive, like some people. As she kept walking, I wondered why she was bothering with me at all. It would be more productive to teach the hungry Seam kids to hunt. Although, since she had won, nobody was quite as hungry as they had been.

As we neared the woods, the Meadow fading behind us one step at a time, I slowed, to wipe the sweat off my face nervously. "Are we going in there?" I asked hesitantly, and she just nodded, her braid bobbing up and down with the movements.

I had to run to catch up with her, and I barely reached her side before she took the first step into the woods, surprisingly silently. I took my own hesitant first step, and a few leaves crackled beneath the worn rubber toe of my boot. She was moving again already, and I increased my pace to follow behind her.

We had to have been walking for at least a half an hour by the time she slowed down, and it was another five minutes before she completely stopped.

I caught up, panting, and crashed to the ground without warning, to catch my breath. She sat down with me, surprisingly, and crossed her legs, waiting for me to get a hold of my pulse. It took a few minutes, but finally my body had calmed down enough to allow me to breathe normally. Only then did Katniss start speaking again.

"You want to thin out," she says matter-of-factly, getting right to the point again. "So you want me to train you."

Well no, I hadn't wanted her to train me, she offered. But okay, we can pretend I asked her.

"There's more to getting fit than working out, though. When your mother got me tea last night, I saw your refrigerator." I saw her shake her head a little, as if the idea of a refrigerator still made her uncomfortable. "There's not a single healthy thing in there. You need to eat more plants and meat. Less bread."

I just nod. I know this already. I just haven't had time to go about doing it, because I can hardly just waltz out to Rooba's butchery and order some meat. I'm supposed to be dying. As for plants, well they don't exactly sell fresh vegetables along the street either.

"So I'm going to teach you about edible plants." Katniss finishes.

"You- what?" I gasp, completely startled. "Really?"

"Yes, I figured, why not? You can use that to get healthier, and in case something were to happen to the few people who still know this kind of thing..." she trails off.

I know she means Gale, Peeta, her mother, and herself. Prim is too young to know those kinds of things, and I suppose other than her, it is just the four of them. This revelation makes me frown a little, and even with all my practice smiling, hiding my despair from the teachers and my parents, I can't conceal the displeasure on my face. So she had an ulterior motive for wanting to train me. Pass on the knowledge.

It's not that I'm not grateful for the information about the plants. I am. Really. But knowing she's mostly doing this to pass on information, not because she likes me, is a little disappointing.

I can see in her face, she's noticed my displeasure. I mask it quickly, and pretend nothing's happened. The damage is done though, she is now looking down at the leaf-strewn ground as if hoping she could melt into it, never to be seen again. I can't help but feel a little bad for her, even though the anger is still raging inside me.

"What's this?" I ask suddenly, pointing at a small sprig of green sticking out of the ground beside me. The leaves are a bright green, and slightly jagged on the edge. Rather than being smoothed out like basil leaves, the only kind I know, the surface of this leaf is bumpy, like an old person's skin gets after so long.

"That's mint," she says, looking up, clearly grateful for an excuse to leave the previous conversation in the past.

"Mint," I repeat. "Right. We have mint tea, sometimes. I should have known that."

"That one is basil," she says, gesturing to a patch of darker green, smooth leaves beside her.

"That one I do know," I grin, and much to my surprise, she grins back.

"Good."

_Thoughts? Appreciation? Suggestions? Leave a review please, it'll encourage me to get more of the story up faster, thanks! It might not mean much to you to leave a review, but seriously, it makes an author's day._


	2. Chapter 2

_Sorry for all the time-jumping in here, I just had to get the background mostly done and over with. It gets better in this chapter, promise. I'll tell you right now, the majority of the good parts of this story are going to be before the Games, which will get drawn out quite a bit, but this beginning drag is coming to a close soon. Review and tell me what you think! The more reviews I get, the more I add!_

It's an odd thought, but I think Katniss might actually be starting to like me.

We've been training together for about the last six months, and sometimes we talk while we're running, or stretching. We get along nicely enough. I think if I'd met her before the Hunger Games last year, I would have grown to be her friend. But after the Games, she's just been more antisocial in general. Mostly we think in silence, but I think that's a trait we share. I need time to think quietly, and so does she. I'll say she has more to think about than I do by far, but I like to think what I'm thinking about is important. Like today, when I'm thinking about who will be reaped this year- two Seam kids, only one, or two merchant kids?

Today is officially 350 days since last year's reaping, and Katniss and Peeta were chosen as tributes. In 15 days, two more kids' lives will change forever. Or maybe more. This year is the Quarter Quell, after all.

The Quarter Quell is once every 25 years, as a sort of anniversary of the Hunger Games. Sometimes I wonder what the fifth Quarter Quell will bring- because after four, it's hardly a quarter anymore. Maybe they'll change the name every time. But then I remember that I'll probably be dead by then, so it doesn't matter either way.

I wonder what kind of hell this year's Quarter Quell will be. The first one, year 25, was when the Districts voted their own tributes. I can't help but imagine how horrible it would feel to be chosen- here, at least. You would feel betrayed, absolutely outcast and hated by your own people, that they send you to your death like that. Then the second one, year 50, was double the tributes. I think that was Haymitch's Games.

This year... Well last year had two winners. I wonder if it's preplanned, like my parents say it's supposed to be, or if President Snow will set something up to poke at what happened last year. For Katniss and Peeta's sake, the mentors for this year, I hope it doesn't involve four tributes again.

Katniss' training with me has been going well -why my mind strays to this, I can't tell- and I can now distinguish over 50 different types of edible and poisonous plants. Tree barks were easy enough to learn, and identifying leaves came with as much simplicity.

In addition to the plants, though, we've also been continuing training together- lifting rocks, which was my idea originally, and Katniss complimented me for, and then lots of running. She says stamina is always good to have, plus the fact that while I'm running, people can't identify my face. We run laps around the Seam most days now, study in the forest about midday, then return to her home in the Victor's Village for lunch, on insistence of Mrs. Everdeen.

I think Prim has taken a liking to me as well, and she begs Katniss constantly if I can take a break from training and play with her goat, Lady, or cat, Buttercup. I have a way with animals that had gone undiscovered until this point, because I've never had a pet. Prim loves watching me scratch Buttercup's ear in just the right place, and when he curls up on my lap, or when I try to play keep away with Lady, with her favorite stick. Sometimes Katniss gives in, and other times she insists we train a little more before I stop. I can see she truly loves Prim, though. If nothing else were to provoke Katniss to do something, Prim would be able to.

Rosabelle and I have stayed in contact- and become quite close. It's a new concept for me- sending letters to someone on a daily basis. Sometimes, though, she comes over Katniss' house to play with Prim. The two girls are the same age, and they get on marvelously. I get envious watching the two of them sometimes, even though I'm friends with Rosabelle as well.

I've discovered she likes designing outfits, because her father is the tailor. He rarely even sews them, instead making the basic clothes that the mine-workers typically buy, but when he does, she becomes ecstatic, and almost always shows them to me. Once she designed a little jean-fabric bracelet, with metal buttons, and begged her father to make it for weeks and weeks. Finally and reluctantly he agreed, and it took a day to make. She surprised me that evening with it, saying it was a gift for being one of her best friends. (The others being Prim, Katniss, and her sister and brother.)

As for her eldest brother, I have only encountered him once more. Rosabelle was coming to play with Prim, and Matrix was walking with her, the pair of them talking. I was running laps with Katniss at the time, and even while jogging, I could see he was just as attached to the girl as Katniss was to Prim. Matrix was... not unattractive, by any means. For a moment I grew upset over my lack of a boyfriend, thinking it was because I was so fat. My mind flashed back to those days only a few months ago, when, I had come home from school and just ate the taunting away.

Then I heard Katniss' ragged breathing catching up with me, and I blinked, brought back to the present. I was not that girl anymore. The thought made me smile, and I pushed myself harder, running faster than Katniss in my burst of happiness.

Today, Katniss says she wants to start working on throwing the rocks. I'm doubtful, but I agree and tell her I'll meet her outside after breakfast. Living in the Victor's Village has done wonders for me- with the working out and the better eating, as well as the alternate human company. My mother comes to visit often, although my father doesn't bother. I don't blame him for that. He's busy, and it's not like we were ever close.

"Good morning, Rina," Mrs. Everdeen greets me as I come down from the second floor, smiling. "Would you like some pancakes? I made them for Prim and Rosabelle earlier."

"No thank you," I reply, although my stomach is begging me to accept. "I'm working on the diet still. I'll just make the usual salad."

"Alright," she sighs. I can tell with both Katniss and I eating healthier, she's growing a little upset by her cooking gone to waste. You can hardly argue that angle though, because what with both Prim and Rosabelle -who is now almost as regular a member of the family as I am- and both of whose appetites have grown enormously, aren't allowing anything to spoil.

Going into the refrigerator, I take out a bowl of spinach leaves and a small container of strawberries. Unlike back at my own home, the Victor's Village always has electricity. There's no guessing when it's safe to store food, no wondering if your light will turn on or not, and no phone calls dropped because of the lack of power.

I mix the strawberries in with the spinach and eat quickly, enjoying the mix of the sweet strawberries with the fresh leaves. I washed my own bowl and returned the food to the refrigerator- both things Mrs. Everdeen would have been more than happy to do, but even after all these months, I feel as though I'm intruding by being here. And I'm not really looking forward to throwing rocks with Katniss today.

Peeta and Haymitch don't know I'm living with the Everdeens yet. I think every time Haymitch has come over, I've been out with Katniss, or on my own. Peeta hasn't come over once yet. The way he acts around her now only confirms what I had thought earlier on- before the Victory Tour even started. They were faking the romance for the cameras. And their lives, I add.

I think Peeta took more of a hit than Katniss, and for whatever reason, he won't talk to her anymore. He still sends warm loaves of bread over once a week, but I think that's for Prim and Mrs. Everdeen. Katniss won't talk about him when I so much as bring his name up, anymore. The most I've gotten out of her was "I don't want to talk about what he felt." That makes me think Peeta wasn't lying as much as she was.

Instead of going for the front door, as I should be, to join Katniss, I turn around and go back up the stairs. I want to see what I look like. Katniss has almost forbidden me to look in the mirror the past three months or so, saying that it will be a bigger surprise to find out what I look like after the work is all done. Today I'm in a slacking mood, though, and I want to stall. I know Prim has a mirror in her room, but there's also one in the bathroom- a real full-length one, too, that's been covered for my sake.

I take one step into the bathroom, and approach the mirror cautiously, like I would a wild animal. I'm just waiting to be disappointed by my appearance. Maybe I'm not as skinny as I've been feeling I am, lately. Maybe I haven't lost any weight at all. The thought scares me, almost as much as the thought of going back to school like that does. Oh yeah. I haven't gone to school in about six months. Oops.

The mirror is calling to me though, and I take the last step, resting my hand on the long towel covering the glass. I pull it off, but can't help closing my eyes. I don't want to know what I look like. I really, really don't. I debate putting the towel back, and just waiting for Katniss to tell me when to look, when I hear Mrs. Everdeen's voice, surprised, greeting someone.

I freeze and listen, trying to make sense of the words I've just heard.

"Why, Haymitch! What a surprise!"

Haymitch?

Oh no. Katniss hasn't told anyone else I'm here. So far the list of people who know that I'm both not dying, and staying with the Everdeens consists of the Everdeens, my parents, and Rosabelle. Haymitch has no idea there's a stranger in Katniss' house, and I think Mrs. Everdeen forgot I was still here, or else she would have sent Haymitch away. Instead, I hear the following dialogue.

"Is Katniss here?" he asks, and I can hear the door close. Great. He's been invited in.

"No, she went out to train a little while ago. Probably somewhere out in the woods, by now," Mrs. Everdeen says, and I can hear coffee being poured.

"Is that so," he muses, and I can barely make out the sound of someone taking a sip of liquid. Presumably him with his coffee. "Can I just wait here for her, then?" he asks calmly, and I assume he's making himself comfortable.

"Sure, that's fine. I'll see if she's out back," says Mrs. Everdeen, putting the coffee pot down.

Good, I think. She'll see it's only Katniss out there, and get Haymitch to leave. When she realizes I must still be in the house, she'll make sure he doesn't go anywhere else, because she doesn't know exactly where I am. Not letting them know I was going upstairs may not have been the smartest decision of my life.

"Prim," Haymitch barks, and I can hear Prim murmur a reply. That girl talks so quietly. The two exchange a joke or two, appropriate for her age thankfully, and then I hear Haymitch get serious again. "Where's the bathroom?" he asks.

"You know where the bathroom is," she giggles. "The houses are identical!"

"Yes, identical built. Mine, however, is a filth pit." Haymitch laughs. "I was just checking you knew where it was," he assures her.

Aww, that was adorable. I think Prim just has that effect on people- even Haymitch, who seems to be usually quite drunk, has to be sweet around her. But then another thought strikes me- _I'm_ in the bathroom.

I rush over to the door, and crack it open. Haymitch's steps are already echoing up the stairs, and then I see his head coming over the top step. I gasp and close the door again, locking it. I hope he doesn't need to go that badly. If I'm discovered in here, I don't know if he'd slice me to bits, or just have me arrested. And not quite sure I want to know which.

His footsteps are echoing across the hallway now, meanwhile, I'm hopping from foot to foot, distraught, trapped, and far beyond scared. I'm terrified. Katniss really needs to get around to introducing me to the other inhabitants of Victor's Village. I can hear his hand grip the doorknob, and then there's a clattering noise as he tries to turn it. Then he tries jiggling the knob, thinking it must just be jammed.

I rush over to the door, placing my own hands over the knob and twisting the opposite way, hoping he's not strong enough to break the poor-quality bathroom lock. He growls a few cusses, before I hear a different kind of clicking, and I realize he must have a knife out, and is trying to pick the lock.

My breath is far past catching point, and I'm honestly surprised he hasn't heard me yet. I stuff my thumbnail into my mouth with worry, one hand still gripping the doorknob tightly. Oh please please please let him think it's just broken, let him go away and do something else...!

"HAYMITCH!" Katniss' familiar voice calls, from downstairs.

The clicking noise of his picking the lock stops, and I hear him take a few steps towards the stairs. "There you are!" says Haymitch gruffly. "This door is locked! Can you get it?"

"Uh, actually," she pants, running up the stairs, and stopping next to him, from the sound of the footsteps. "Actually, I've been meaning to tell you..."

"Meaning to tell me what?" he demands. "Is this about Peeta? You two haven't gotten it on after all, have you?"

"What- NO!" Katniss exclaims, and I can hear Haymitch chuckle. "No- what I've been working on the past few months, I mean..."

Ouch. She's been "working on" me? Am I just a project now? I push the thought aside. She doesn't think of me like that. She's just not the best at phrasing things. Neither am I, which is why I think we've been getting along so well lately.

"Rina," Katniss calls. She has started calling my by my nickname since I moved in, which is nice. I don't like Marina as much. "If you could come out?" she says awkwardly.

I take one deep breath, before unlocking the bathroom door, and opening it slowly. A now very confused Haymitch is staring at me in disbelief, and Katniss is looking down guiltily.

"What?" I ask, a little startled by Haymitch's confusion.

"You're Marina Valli!" He splutters. "But you're supposed to be dying!"

"It got out that quickly?" I exclaim, turning to Katniss now.

"Well yeah..." she mutters. "After about a month, everyone started getting really worried. My mother suggested you move in here to take the suspicion away from your place, so people don't think you're faking it. Your mother's been putting pillows in your bed, and saying light is bad for you at the moment. Something like that."

"People _care_ about me that much?" I murmur.

"Why wouldn't they?" Haymitch snaps. "If anyone's sick for a month, let alone six, they're going to get some sympathy. Now that I see you're clearly fine, though... Better than fine, really..." He trails off.

"I've just been getting better!" I say defensively.

"I can see that," he muses, examining me like a piece of meat, for just a brief moment, and then he's looking back to Katniss. "You trained her?"

"Yes..." she says after a moment, clearly suspicious of the question. "Why?"

"No reason," he says, backing off. "Well. I'll be seeing you then, Marina."

* * *

><p>Later that day, Peeta stops by. Actually, it's in the middle of Katniss' rock training, and one of the rocks I had just thrown landed only a foot away from him. He jumps back about another three feet, startled, and I just stand there in horror, my hands instinctively clasped over my mouth.<p>

"No, it's alright," he laughs, when he sees my expression. "I'm fine. Could've lost a toe, but I'm fine."

"Peeta," Katniss murmurs behind me, as if she's had the breath knocked right out of her. I ignore the tone in her voice, trying to be courteous to the effort they're clearly both making to be together, behind Katniss' house.

"So you're Marina," he continues, ignoring Katniss completely. "I'm Peeta Mellark. But you already knew that, didn't you?" He grins, but I can see it's halfhearted. He doesn't want to be here just as much as Katniss, about now. I guess his curiosity over me won out against whatever aversion to Katniss he still held. I shake his extended hand, trying hard to keep my hand from shaking like a leaf. My arms are still shot from throwing the rocks around all morning.

"What are you doing here, Peeta?" Katniss asks, and as I turn to wonder why she sounds so broody, I see that she looks weary, not angry at his presence.

"I was wondering if I could help at all," he says matter-of-factly.

I turn my attention back to him. There's no spite in his expression, no desire to steal my training from Katniss, no anger there. He's just as weary as her, and I see also a little bit of- longing? There in his eyes, it seems so painfully obvious to me that he's still got feelings for Katniss. I turn back to her, only to find her staring at the ground, pain scrawled all over her face.

Trying to clear the air, I cough awkwardly, and shuffle my feet. "So uh... what exactly were you planning on helping with?" I asked Peeta, careful to avoid both of their eyes.

"Maybe just lifting weights, and such," says Peeta, still wearied by being here. "I've had more practice in that area, anyway."

Katniss just nods agreement, turning back around to the rocks behind her. A few of them, we haven't been able to lift, yet. Two of the rocks, the largest, seem to be over a hundred pounds. I've been working up to lifting, then throwing those, but at the moment, the closest I've gotten was lifting one end of one off the ground for a few seconds. And then it nearly crushed my fingers.

As if to demonstrate, Peeta walks past Katniss, and goes up to the two 100-pounders. He gets his arms around one of them, and heaves it upwards, his face bright red with the concentration it takes, and then he throws it. It's an amazing sight- he's incredibly strong. The rock flies a good four feet before crashing to the grass with a dull thud, and then rolling over once, dirt-covered end up.

I whistle in appreciation, and I can practically feel Katniss glaring at me. I ignore her though, and go over to where Peeta is gasping from the exertion.

"You're alright?" I ask carefully, offering a hand for him to straighten up with.

"Yeah, I'm fine. It's just been a while. I haven't been working in the bakery a lot lately, that's all," he says, but I can translate it into meaning 'God, I hadn't realized until now I haven't worked out since the Hunger Games.'

A voice somewhere inside my head informs me that it's impolite to invite someone into another person's house, but after living here for 6 months, I feel like this is sort of my house. His is identical to it, anyway. "Do you want to come in and have a drink? I'm sure Mrs. Everdeen would be thrilled to have you," I say, pointedly ignoring Katniss' tiny gasp.

"That would be lovely, thank you," he smiles, after accepting my hand and standing upright, with a little effort.

After I escort him into the Everdeens' house, Prim nearly attacks Peeta, she's so overjoyed to see him. In truth, I don't think she knows him all that well, but from seeing him with Katniss on the televised Games, I believe she regards him as something of a brother, now. Mrs. Everdeen was first shocked, then just as pleased as Prim to see the baker's son in her house. Katniss had driven him away, for some unknown reason, but now he was back in their house, both sister and mother took it into stride. They just didn't know it had been me who'd invited him here, not Katniss.

I'm doing my best to ignore her silent glares, and small, hurtful remarks, that only we two catch, over dinner. Naturally Mrs. Everdeen had invited Peeta to stay for the meal, but I could tell Katniss wanted nothing more than to slip away and go out hunting with Gale. Unfortunately, she'd told me Gale had been acting distant lately, and was working in the mines. Catching him for hunting would only happen on Sundays now. Today wasn't Sunday.

Peeta tries his best to involve Katniss in the discussions he is having with the other two Everdeens, but her answers are clipped and short, and one word answers, whenever possible. On the other hand, I try to get involved in the talking, in an attempt to block Katniss out for the moment. I would take the consequences for tonight later- probably in the form of running triple laps, alone. But for now? I wanted to get to know the other Victor.

Apparently Peeta has really taken up painting in his spare time. The Victors are expected to have a hobby to share with the world, on the Victory Tour, something that they've been working on in all their new-found spare time. Katniss claimed she was designing clothes. She's confided in me, however, that the clothing designs are Cinna's, her stylist, and he told her to pretend that was her hobby. Peeta on the other hand really has been painting!

I find it a little surprising at first, but then wrap my mind around the idea. Just because he was a baker's son, then a Victor, doesn't mean he can't paint as well. Katniss seems unsurprised by the news. Perhaps she learned that from Haymitch already. Speaking of Haymitch...

I stop trying to converse with the other three sociable human beings at the table, and start thinking. Haymitch had seemed extremely surprised by my presence here. And then that look in his eyes when he'd asked if Katniss had been training me... I couldn't help but distrust him, instantly. Something was going on in that strange man's head, and sober or not, I didn't like the outlook it was beginning to give me.

* * *

><p>The following day, at dawn, Katniss literally drags me out of bed, clearly still inwardly fuming over the previous evening.<p>

"Get up," she snarls. "Get out there and run. You're not stopping for an hour, or whenever I feel you can. Go."

I yawn as I sit up, but oblige, pulling my canvas pants on, and tugging the hooded leather jacket on over a short sleeved shirt I'd worn to bed. Doing my hair up as I leave the room, I follow Katniss down into the kitchen, only to find Peeta, slumped forward in his chair and leaning against the table, completely asleep.

Katniss isn't startled by his presence. Oh. That would probably be why she's angry.

"Wake him up, and get outside," says Katniss.

"What?" I ask stupidly.

"Wake Peeta up and bring him outside! He wants to train with us."

Katniss is clearly fried, and doesn't want to deal with her co-Victor at the moment. I shrug and humor her, and she leaves, with one more disgusted glance at me.

Going over to where Peeta lies, I just watch him for a moment. He looks so peaceful while he's asleep. There's no pain in his eyes, no loss, and no weariness that being around Katniss brings. I would almost say he was a different person, if I couldn't see the red stain on his white sleeve that I'd caused the previous night, knocking my wine over when I yawned.

Sighing, I decided it was probably better to get him awake quickly. Instead of having to figure out which awkward way to wake him, I was saved the decision by Haymitch's entrance. He opened the door quietly, closing it equally so, and walking quickly over to where I stood. I eye him warily, still nervous over that one cursory glance he'd given me yesterday morning, as if I were stock, not human.

"I've been meaning to talk to you," he starts gruffly, taking my arm gently and leading me into the Everdeen's living room. "Katniss said it was alright with her."

"About what?" I ask, ignoring the fact that Katniss gave him permission- as if I were hers to talk to.

"Katniss has been training you," says Haymitch, cutting right to the point like Katniss normally does. He eyes my shoulders appreciatively, and I look down, startled. What's there to be-? Oh... wow. Haymitch seems to have the idea of it- the training has actually given me muscles. "You're looking good," he admits, rubbing his chin. "Almost like I did, after the Games."

"What?" I gasp, shocked. Haymitch doesn't talk about the Games. As a base rule. So Katniss says, anyway. It must have been hell for him, watching 47 children die, not just 23. Although both numbers were terrible, I'm sure it must have been worse for Haymitch. And then his whole family dying after the Games? Awful, awful luck on his part.

Or perhaps awful luck he'd won the Games how he did. Nobody had explained to me how Haymitch had won, but I knew it had happened in some tricky roundabout way, because the second to last tribute, I knew, had been larger and more advanced in terms of weapon-use.

"You heard me," he mutters, back to his gruff self. "You're shaping up. It's good. You have all the food you could possibly need at your disposal. You're not starving and weak like some of the kids around here. Katniss is training you. Now Peeta's in on it. You can throw rocks, you can run, you know a lot about plants, and from what Katniss told me yesterday, you seem to take everything in stride beautifully."

"What are you suggesting?" I manage to splutter. He couldn't really be saying-

I can read his face better than words, at this point in the conversation. _"I think at the next reaping, you should volunteer."_

I just gasp at the air, probably looking quite like a fish, but before I can even catch my breath, Haymitch continues again, in that same, infuriatingly calm tone.

"Now before you knife me, or do something equally stupid, just listen, and think about it for a moment. You've been training. You've been well-fed. You're from the District with the infamous double lover-winners from last year. District Twelve is going to be automatically the favorites, in the eyes of the crowd.

"It's also a Quarter Quell. Which means twice the hell, in whichever way the Capitol plans it. If we get you ready now, some poor, unassuming child won't have to deal with this, when the time comes. They won't be instantly annihilated. Because if it's you, we still have a good two weeks to train you up, get you all ready for it.

"Think about this. You can be trained in using just about any weapon you can think of, at least a crash course, before you even get there. Not one single child in the District except you will have this chance. In fact, they'll be dying on the inside, knowing they have no skill, and are going to be killed any day now."

"But you can't-!" I begin to protest.

"I know it's wrong. It's wrong to ask anyone to do this. But you know what? We can keep you alive. Katniss and Peeta and I. If it comes down to it, I'll take Peeta's place and keep you alive. We're going to have sponsors lined up and around a city, with all the fame Peeta and Katniss already have. Just consider it, alright?"

With that, he stands, and starts for the door. I'm completely frozen, and in shock. He can't be serious. There's no way. And yet... I know he's not lying. He's not joking. He is completely serious.

How can he possibly be asking me to volunteer into that hell? Going into an arena, with 23 other children, and having to kill some if not all of them. The thought of myself being placed in such a situation sickens me, and I can't stop the bile rushing up my throat.

I rise and lurch through the door back into the kitchen, barely making it through the doorway when the previous night's dinner comes up, and then splatters sickeningly all over the clean tile floor. Peeta jerks awake, I can tell, by the scrape of his chair. Meanwhile, I'm panting on the ground, crouched over my own stomach's contents.

"Marina!" he gasps. "Are you... alright?"

The answer is quite obvious, isn't it? No, I'm not. Thanks so much for caring to ask.

"What happened, did Haymitch-?" asks Peeta.

"You saw him?" I wonder aloud, looking up, though embarrassed by my current state.

"I heard him leave," Peeta informs me, crouching down beside me, and putting a protective hand on my shoulder. "What did he say to upset you?" he asks, steely determination polluting his usually kind face.

"It's nothing..." I try to say, but Peeta's glare stops me before I can finish. "Nothing."

"I won't tell him you've told, if you don't want," Peeta assures me, concern now more predominant to the determination of before.

"Katniss either," I demand, sinking to my knees as he puts his arm around my shoulder.

"Katniss either." He agrees softly. "What was it?"

"Haymitch... asked me to volunteer for the Games."


	3. Chapter 3

Much to my own credit, after cleaning up the vomit with Peeta, I went outside to face Katniss.

"What took you so long?" she demands as soon as we're outside the house.

"Long story, tell you later," I say wearily, certainly not intending to ever tell her about Haymitch's little talk with me. I wonder now if he really did get her permission to talk to me.

"Fine, it doesn't matter," Katniss says. "Both of you run laps, until I say stop."

"You're not going to come?" Peeta asks, unable to keep the hopeful note out of his tone.

Ouch. Even I would have known better than to say that, especially to her face. No, Katniss isn't going to come. I've found when she's angry, she either is running by the time I show up, or isn't planning on it at all. And if you ask her if she's going to, the answer instantly becomes no. If not, sometimes she'll change her mind and join you, but make it clear conversation isn't welcome.

Yes, I've grown to know Katniss Everdeen over these months.

"No, no I'm not. Why aren't you running?" she asks coldly.

"Alright alright," Peeta mutters defensively.

I start out running ahead of him, going along the usual path. Through the Victor's Village and into the Seam, around the backs of the houses. I tug my hood up as soon as I leave the safety of the Village, because anyone here could potentially recognize me, due to the sheer amount of Seam kids that attend my school.

Peeta is lagging behind me already, but I can hardly afford to wait up for him. I could technically be murdered for faking illness, since this was the day President Snow was scheduled to announce the Quarter Quell theme. This year, on the Victory Tour, President Snow announced the theme for the Quarter Quell would be announced exactly two weeks before the next Reaping. Last night Haymitch had said he had two weeks to teach me. The reminder of the date brings me up short.

"Peeta!" I call.

He slows down, grateful for the excuse, and I turn and run back to him.

"Peeta, it's the Quarter Quell announcement today! We've got to get back!"

"Oh!" he gasps, straightening up and bolting off in the other direction.

I catch up with him easily, and run beside him until we reach Katniss' house, ignoring her shouted complaints as we streak right past her.

Mrs. Everdeen must have been just about to open the door to call for Katniss, because when I reach the door and turn the knob, she's standing right there.

"Oh!" I gasp, catching the railing and pulling myself back before I can bump into her, my ponytailed hair flying wildly around my face.

Prim is right behind her, and Mrs. Everdeen almost backs up into the blonde girl as she steps back in surprise. Prim giggles at the sight of me, and then Peeta slams into my back, and I go catapulting forward, and she erupts into laughter.

Katniss is laughing as well now, at both our spill, and Prim's laughter. I can hear her come up behind us, and good-naturedly offer Peeta her hand. He takes it and pulls himself up, as I take Prim's hands and allow her to haul me up.

"I was just about to call you three in, to see the Quell announcement..." Mrs. Everdeen says, clutching her chest.

"Yeah," I grin. "I remembered that about twenty seconds ago, and started back."

"I made tea," Prim announces, beaming, and brandishes a steaming kettle, on which the tip is open, to stifle the whistling noise. "Mint!"

"That's great, Prim," Katniss smiles, weaving between Peeta and I to take Prim inside. "Pour me a cup?" she suggests. There's no sarcasm in her tone. No angry bite. No weariness. For a moment, it's almost as if Katniss is an entirely different person. She really loves Prim.

Mrs. Everdeen follows, and then it's just Peeta and I, standing on the doorstep. For a second, I forget he's there. Then he speaks, and I can't help but be drawn in by the simple sentence.

"Katniss_ loves_ what she does love," he sighs, and I look at him, taken aback. Those are deep words for a baker's son. I always knew he hadn't faked it.

* * *

><p>The announcement is set to air in ten minutes from now. Prim made her mint tea with sugar as well, we find after taking a sip. No extra sugar goes in this cup. Peeta was the first to taste it, and ended up spitting half of it out across Katniss' shirt while laughing at the taste. I snorted, and she just groaned, before heading upstairs to change into a clean shirt. We had time- the Peacekeepers were still going around making sure everyone was awake to watch it.<p>

Katniss has been gone all of two minutes, when the doorbell rings. Instinctively, I rush to place my teacup in the kitchen, and duck down underneath the kitchen table, over which has been placed a large tablecloth. I must be completely hidden to everyone else, but I can't help feeling exposed as Mrs. Everdeen opens the door, and greets Darius, a friendly redheaded Peacekeeper.

Darius is one of the younger ones I know of, but has settled into the way we do things here in District Twelve nicely. He barters and trades in the Hob like the other Peacekeepers, and sometimes I wonder if he might actually be starting to like it here. He gets along with Katniss well enough, anyway.

"Just checking to make sure everyone is awake here," he says amiably.

"We're all here," Mrs. Everdeen assures him, smiling broadly. "Katniss is just changing because Peeta spilled a little tea on her shirt."

"Ahh," Darius laughs. "Yes, I wondered what the extra cup was for," he continues, and I can see him gesturing to Katniss' cup of tea on the coffee table, with Peeta and Prim's. "Yes, that's hers," Mrs. Everdeen continues, unfazed.

"I'll just wait here, to make sure she shows up," Darius says, leaning against the doorframe. "It's not that I don't trust you, but you know how regulations go."

"Yes, I do," Mrs. Everdeen says, but she's starting to become a bit nervous.

"Who's that cup for?" Darius questions after a moment of silent examination, gesturing to my teacup in the kitchen.

"Oh that?" Mrs. Everdeen laughs, but I can hear a tone of desperation creeping into her voice. "That's-"

"We were hoping Haymitch might come," Peeta fills in, saving her. "We called him up a little while ago, but he seems to have declined."

"Oh, well if that's all," Darius grins, just as Katniss starts down the stairs. "Morning, Catnip," he calls jovially, before bidding them all a good day, and closing the door.

I sigh with relief, and crawl out from under the table to retrieve my teacup. "Well that was close," I mutter, bringing it into the living room and examining the setup, looking for where I ought to sit. Katniss is sitting with Prim and her mother on the couch. I'd been in the armchair before, but Peeta... He's sitting alone, and I feel bad about it. I cross in front of the couch to sit on the loveseat next to Peeta. Katniss eyes me as I do so, silently questioning why I would sit next to the boy whom, in the eyes of the Capitol, is her boyfriend.

Suddenly the television set blares to life, and the trumpeted Anthem of Panem plays through the speakers.

"It's starting," Prim says unnecessarily.

The camera shows the audience in front of the Training Center, and Caesar Flickerman is addressing the ecstatic crowd quietly, his back turned to the camera. His hair is bubblegum pink this year, and I can only assume his lips match. It must look rather comical up close, but I know what he's about to announce can't be comical in any way.

He turns around, and jumps, as if startled by the camera's presence. I'm almost certain this whole thing has been planned out beforehand, so it doesn't make me laugh like it does Prim. Suddenly he beams and spreads his arms wide, and the crowd erupts in cheers and shouts, most of them raising posters and banners above their heads. The sayings mostly go something like "Happy Quarter Quell," but I can see a few in the back that are suggestions for this year's theme. One of them reads, "Underwater Quell," and I refuse to read the remainder of them for fear of losing my stomach a second time.

"Welcome, Panem!" Caesar calls jovially, and the crowd roars even louder behind him.

We wait for the clamor to die down, and then Caesar announces we're to wait through these commercial breaks, while everything is readied, that the Reading of the Cards will be coming up momentarily.

In the Districts, that just means we sit here while the screen goes staticky again. There's no one rich enough to advertise, in our District. So I just stare into the static, waiting for the program to come back on. This is a little curious- I wasn't expecting there to be a break during this ceremony. It seemed like quite a serious thing to interrupt with advertisements.

Finally the broadcast comes back into focus, starting instantly with the blaring trumpets that they use to get tributes' attention in the Games, before switching to the national Anthem again. It takes about a minute to play out, and then the camera pans over to where President Snow now sits, on top of a makeshift stage in front of the Training Center.

There's a little girl with him- clearly Capitol, and I can see she's already had her first artificial adjustment. Her eyes are a bright pink color- even brighter than Caesar's hair this year. Her dress is snow-white, and flows prettily behind her as she follows the President to the center of the stage. She has in her hands a pillow of blood-red velvet, and on top of the pillow rests a small, wooden box.

I know within that box, there are multiple yellowing envelopes, each containing a card that was supposedly written all the way back when the first Hunger Games were created. There are around fifty of them- I guess the creators planned way ahead.

President Snow steps up to the microphone, and it's as if the world has stopped breathing. Everyone is dead silent, waiting for the announcement that could have come months ago. Perhaps they've waited for a reason, I think. Perhaps there's something they don't want possible tributes training for, in the Districts like 1, 2, and 4, where being in the Games is a sought-after opportunity.

He starts by retelling the stories the Mayor tells every year at the Reaping, of the Dark Days. Then of the Districts' rebellion, and how we failed to take the Capitol. How the Hunger Games were created to remind the Districts of their places, and how the Quarter Quell was devised as a "special" Games, every twenty-five years. It's a sort of anniversary, although hardly reason for celebration in the Districts' minds, as far as I know.

"On the twenty-fifth anniversary, the first Quarter Quell," President Snow continues, "As a reminder to the Districts that their actions had ruined the futures of their children, and their chances at a better life, each District was made to vote for the tributes that would represent the District."

I dissected his words for a moment, confused for just an instant, before I realized what that meant. The Capitol had been throwing the loss of child life in the Districts' faces, to remind them of what their actions had cost the younger generations. Had the founders of the Games really been so cruel as to do that? I suppose they might have. They would have been angry at the Districts still, when the Games had been devised.

"On the fiftieth anniversary, the second Quarter Quell," President Snow says, and the small girl with the box takes a minute step closer to him. "The Districts were reminded that twice as many rebels died as Capitol residents, but too many lives were lost. For this reason, twice as many children were sent into the arena."

That was the year Haymitch won. I knew there had been double the participants, but not the reason why until now. It was cruel again to do something like that. That had only been the second Quell, though. If I were the founders, perhaps I might have... I stop the thought instantly. I was not the founders. The Hunger Games were cruel and awful, and I would never wish them upon anyone. The nights Katniss has woken me up screaming prove it so.

"And now we honor our third Quarter Quell," the president says, opening the lid to the wooden box in the girl's arms, and pulling out the closest card. There is a "75" printed on the front in a spindly black pen-like black substance. "The seventy-fifth anniversary of the Districts' rebellion."

I can hear Katniss inhale sharply with nervousness, and Peeta tenses next to me. Prim is biting on one of her fingernails, with Mrs. Everdeen pushing her hand away to try and stop the habit.

"On the 75th anniversary, to remind the Districts that their actions were strictly punished, and it is by our grace they are so free today,"

Katniss lets out a little growl of displeasure, and I can see Peeta grimace.

"Each tribute will be handcuffed to their District partner. Two tributes may win this year, if they are paired with the other survivor."

Peeta and Katniss gasp simultaneously, and turn to each other, locking eyes. Mrs. Everdeen is clutching Prim's hand, and the girl doesn't seem to grasp what's just been said yet.

"There will be two pairs of tributes from each District, to create an even 24 chances, as per the usual." President Snow finishes, nodding once, before the anthem begins again. "Let the Quell begin," he says, over the song.

"He's mocking us," Peeta breathes.

"No," Haymitch's voice announces, coming from the front door.

I whirl around to see him, along with the other four, realizing not a one of us heard him enter.

"He's copying you." Haymitch only takes one step nearer, when Katniss explodes.

"That's impossible!" She cries, standing up and glaring accusingly at him. "Snow doesn't want a repeat of what we did! He hated it! We're lucky he believed it! Lucky the _Districts_ believed it! How could he possibly want to do it all over again?"

Haymitch waits a second, to see if she's finished, before continuing. "The Capitol audience however, loved your double-win. He's doing it again- setting it up for that many more murders, and that much larger a blow to the Districts, while providing that much more entertainment for his people."

Haymitch takes a deep breath, as if contemplating his own words before speaking. "He wants more of that double-tribute action. You and Peeta really shook the foundation, last year. He wants more of that for the people, to further cover your act. You lock a girl and a boy together by the arms, what do you think is going to happen? They're going to hate each other, or love each other. Or else become a single-minded killing machine, together. He's still covering up your unintentional rebellion."

Unintentional rebellion? I think. That's not possible. There's no way people would rebel after Katniss and Peeta's performance in the arena, but... Slowly it dawns on me. There is. The two of them outsmarted the Games. That shouldn't be possible. The other Districts might have taken that as rebellion against the Capitol.

"But... but," Peeta splutters. "That can't be-"

"Peeta, listen to me," Haymitch growls. "Snow is obsessive. He's triple and quadruple checking that the Districts think you were in love. He doesn't think you've covered it well enough. So he needs another Victor or two to make an even bigger impression than you did. This was his opportunity, and he took it. Now all he needs is a hateful success, a loving success, or one that blows you two away in comparison by how hard it hits the crowds."

We all stare blankly at the scruffy man, his coat askew, and no liquor smell pouring off him, like it usually does. He's unshaven, and his hair is matted as if he hasn't brushed it since the Victory tour. He probably hasn't. This man went through the second Quarter Quell. He must know what he's talking about. He stares back at us all, his eyes looking directly into mine for a moment, transferring the message easily enough.

_"That's you, sweetheart."_

* * *

><p>I twist the jean bracelet from Rosabelle around my arm idly, laying back on the bed in my room at the Everdeens' house. Tonight will be a strong night for nightmares. Katniss even agreed to let Peeta stay the night. I think he's usually alone in his own Victor's Village house. His family wouldn't stay there, because they have the bakery to keep up.<p>

Prim is sleeping on the couch downstairs, and Peeta is on the floor. I can still hear them telling each other bedtime stories, about princesses and dragons, kings and queens, and knights in shining armor. If only the kids that got thrown into the arena had shining armor, or fancy dresses. Perhaps then the Capitol would be entertained enough to actually let them all live.

This Quell is going to be a nightmare. 48 tributes, and all of them linked to another with handcuffs? I can't imagine they mean the kind of handcuffs we have in District Twelve, either. Ours are old- metal, with chain connecting the two hands. Those would be far too easy to break. No, I imagine the Capitol will provide some kind of high-tech cuffs, that are maybe magnetized, or can't be broken apart at all for some reason.

Haymitch's words find their way into my mind again. _"You lock a girl and a boy together by the arms, what do you think is going to happen? They're going to hate each other, or love each other. Or else become a single-minded killing machine, together."_ He's completely right, of course. Either the tributes will become friends, then perhaps go farther with it, or they'll dislike each other instantly, and work together only for the District's sake. All the same, the dialogue at least will be interesting. Then they could just tolerate each other, and kill and kill and kill until they've won and can become separate people again.

The words after that, though, still confuse me. I have to run through it again to really understand it. What did Haymitch mean, that Snow was still trying to cover up Katniss and Peeta's unintentional rebellion? Thinking back to their Games, broadcast only last year, I can't remember what could possibly have been rebellious about it. They won because they threatened double suicide. So? That could hardly have been considered rebellion... although... The rules of the Games say there can only be one winner.

Last year they poked fun at Katniss and Peeta's "star struck lovers" act, by telling the tributes they could win with a partner. I think by the time they switched the rule back, Katniss had really begun to get attached to Peeta. And Peeta had been there all along. When the fact that only one of them could go home alive came out, well... their fear kicked in, I can only imagine. The fact that all of District Twelve was watching them, at that very moment, and one of them would have to go back there, with everyone knowing it's their fault the other tribute was dead.

I can see how the Capitol might perceive that as a rebellion, but I don't. Until six months ago, I had all too much time on my hands, and I gave the Katniss-Peeta complex much thought. I'd come to the conclusion that neither of them were as in-love as they pretended to be, but the fact that they could both come home alive would have been a relief to both, seeing as they knew each other, and each other's families. They also cared about each other- Katniss decidedly less so than Peeta.

Either way, their action had been a spur-of-the-moment kind of thing, and I don't believe either of them were doing it to literally undermine the Capitol. This new revelation though, does make a few previously-vague conversations I've overheard Katniss having with herself make much more sense. When we're running sometimes, it's as if she's forgotten I'm there altogether, and she does talk to herself. Things about how she only wanted to get out, didn't want to deal with the guilt, didn't want to lose "him".

Now I can piece those together to fit tonight's conversation. And all my theories were correct.

Haymitch wanting me to volunteer, though... perhaps it had been a good idea before, but now I only wonder how that would turn out for me. While yes, I've been training, and I do have muscles, while not distinctive, they are present, they are nothing like those of kids in Districts 1 or 2. I can run, true, but maybe running won't help me. Maybe it will be an underwater Quell, like that one banner suggested. And I know edible plants, while true, that's not necessarily helpful. Katniss herself told me she didn't know some of the plants in the arena, that Rue told her what some of them were.

Haymitch is insane if he thinks I'm going to volunteer to be handcuffed to a boy from my District, have to watch 46 or 47 other children die around me, and come back to nightmares like Katniss still has.

I wonder for a brief moment if I should tell Katniss about his suggestion -no, his request- but then I decide not to. She would just get mad at him, I think. She's been in the arena, she knows. I don't think she'd wish it on anyone, let alone someone she might actually like a little.

Peeta already knows. I need to talk to him. He might know what to do, or confirm or deny Haymitch's idea. Maybe he agrees, and hasn't said so. Maybe he thinks I should go into the arena, too.

I'm so confused. Everyone around me at the moment will either not know what to say or disagree with Haymitch, and I can't make up my mind. Peeta has no idea. Mrs. Everdeen and Prim are too innocent to be told about his suggestion, and Katniss will hate him for even thinking it, let alone telling me so. My mother would naturally disagree- she doesn't want her child going into that.

That leaves one person whom I can trust.

I rise, still dressed, and go over to the window. My room is on the second floor, but the drop shouldn't be a problem unless Peeta and Prim are still awake, because the window is right near where they are in the living room. I push it open carefully, silently, and push my head and shoulders out.

Peering around first to check and make sure nobody is coming towards Victor's Village at the moment, I then slide my hips and legs out, and crouch on the roof, the solid shingles beneath me masking any view of me Prim and Peeta might have yet. I hang one leg over the edge, and then release my hold on the roof, dropping down to the ground. I instantly roll over towards the house, and press my back against it, hoping that Peeta is either asleep, or won't tell Katniss I'm leaving.

I sidle along the side of the building, still crouched low, in case Prim is awake. By this point in time, I rather doubt it, but the saying does go, "better safe than sorry". The other eleven Victor's Village houses are silent- Peeta's with a small garden beginning to wilt in the summer heat, and Haymitch's with long-dead plants in the front. I know Gale's mother has started house-cleaning for him, but I suppose she hasn't gotten to the flowers yet. His is all the way across the ring of them- probably on purpose. Peeta's, though, is directly next to Katniss', for the cameras while they lingered here.

I pause for a moment, looking at Haymitch's sad house, the stains of spilled alcohol running down from the windows, and the dead garden, in addition to the piles of junk obscuring a couple of the second-floor windows, where Gale's mother hasn't reached yet. It's depressing, really, to think that I might end up like that one day- like him. Alone, a mess, and still brooding over the Games, years after they've passed.

If I do get reaped, or volunteer.

Shaking my head out, as if to clear the thoughts that have begun to form there, the "What-ifs" of after the Games, I start out across Victor's Village, and take the usual jogging route, behind the Seam and towards Main Street. I know where the tailor/shoe shop is, thus where Rosabelle must live. It won't take me long to get there, at the pace I'm going. I've visited my mother a few times in the past six months, and it only took about five minutes, running, with my leather hooded jacket-

Oh no. I'm not wearing my hooded jacket.

The thought has only just occurred to me, as I reach the border of the merchant section of District Twelve, and the Seam. I linger, behind a deserted hut on the Seam side, stepping nervously from foot to foot. Do I dare enter Main Street, where I used to call home, without a hood?

With one is another thing entirely. People wouldn't recognize the lean, hooded girl buying vegetables and meat, who's not quite Seam, and not quite merchant. No, she wouldn't look like Marina Valli, the fat girl who was dying up above Parker's thrift shop. But without a hood? Maybe they would think that lean girl does have a resemblance to Marina. Then they might get curious, and questions would rise, and my mother would have to work to keep suspicion down.

This late at night, it's almost impossible that anyone is still out and about. But I don't want to take any chances. However, the need to talk to someone wins out against what I want to do- go back to the Everdeens' house and sleep it off.

I slip through the shadows between shop windows, the candles flickering weakly at this time of night. All the shopkeepers have gone to bed- it's too late now for any people to want to buy things. The candles go un-extinguished though, because of the lack of streetlights. But instead of walking through the light like anyone else, I avoid it and stick to the shadows between shop windows.

The street is indeed, deserted. I can see Parker's shop, and the bakery across from it. My destination tonight it a little farther, though. I pass the fabric store, and know I'm close. Tailors and cobblers need fabric to sew. The next shop I come to is in fact the Tailor's. Mr. and Antha Cartwright, as well as Delly, her brother and Rosabelle, must be asleep in the second floor of the building. I don't know about Matrix- he's always been off. Maybe he hunts at night, but I wouldn't know.

I hope Rosabelle is awake. My plan isn't exactly all that well thought through, and I don't think it will work unless there's someone to either open the door, or come outside. Maybe I could make it up the wall, but that I doubt. I can't climb for my life, except trees. And those barely so.

I cross the street, avoiding the Tailor shop's candlelight, and dodge into the alley between it and the fabric store. There are a few trash bins, with flies buzzing idly around them, which flee when I pass, before re-congregating. The Cartwright's backyard (in essence, anyway) isn't very clean. It's just a small tree, with stray branches laying everywhere, and overgrown grass. There's a small porch leading up to the back door of the shop, and I can see into the shop when I approach it.

It's dark inside, other than the candles, except for one still-dying wick on a table right next to the staircase. I curse my own timing silently- someone's just been here, just blown that candle out. Where they went, though, is a mystery. Outside or up- I'm torn. Although if they had come outside, I'd have seen them, wouldn't I?

A hand closes over my mouth suddenly, and I go to scream, but it's too tight. I instinctively reach to pull the hand away, but their other hand takes my right wrist and twists it backwards, pulling in a painful way. I collapse to my knees, trying to twist my wrist in the opposite direction to loosen the tension there, when suddenly they release me.

I look up, startled, completely forgetting to scream. It's a man- that I can see from just his shoes. As my eyes work their way up his body and to his face, I observe he's wearing rather normal clothing for this part of town. And then I get to his face- I know this man. Or, boy, rather. He's barely 18.

Matrix Cartwright glares down at me questioningly, as if asking what I'm doing on his back porch. His black hair is slicked up like usual, and I can see he hasn't recently shaved from the shadow on his chin. He's got an empty burlap sack over one shoulder, and a knife sticking out of his belt. I swallow nervously.

"Can I help you?" he asks slowly, none of the usual I'm-special-and-you're-not attitude present now.

"I-I was just hoping Rosabelle was awake..." I stutter, rubbing my sore wrist.

"She is," Matrix informs me, still glaring in that annoyingly curious manner. "Why?"

"I wanted to talk to her," I say simply. Might as well just get on with it, I figure. Now the question is: Will he turn me in to the Peacekeepers?

We wait there in silence for a moment, him staring at me, and I stare defiantly back. I will not give this boy -mentally ill or not- the pleasure of making me uncomfortable. Although inside, I know if it came down to it, I could potentially be terrified of him.

"Alright then," Matrix says finally, and I start, blinking a few times in rapid succession. He reaches to open the door, and I push myself up.

"Really?" I ask incredulously.

"Why not? I know you don't have a knife or anything on you," he says matter-of-factly.

He did? I wonder briefly how he knows so, but he's already opened the door, and is pointing up the stairs.

"Her room's the first on the left- don't make a lot of noise, alright? The other two are asleep already, and my parents won't be thrilled I let you in." Matrix points to a door just past the second floor landing, and I nod once.

I start up the steps carefully, stepping lightly in case one of them creaks. None of them do, though, and I make it up to the landing and look back down, only to see Matrix is gone already. The fact that he caught me is disturbing enough, the fact that he let me in and gave me directions even more so. Of my few previous encounters with him in school, he'd never been so helpful. Maybe he is really mentally-ill.

I twist the knob to the door carefully, and slip inside. There's a candle flickering on her bedside table, and I can see she's in bed, but reading, not sleeping. A large wood desk is the only other content of the small room- and it's covered in papers depicting fashion designs, and scraps of material.

"Rosabelle?" I call softly.

She looks up, startled, before a sort of surprised beam lights up her face, and she gestures me to come in. "Did Matrix let you in?" she asks happily, patting the bed beside her, indicating I sit down.

"Yeah, actually, he did..." I start, before my eye catches the book on her bed. "Isn't that a history book?"

"Yes," she says, looking back up and smiling again. "I found it in the rain a few months ago. It was just a little wet, so I took it home and dried it off. It's fascinating, really,"

I blink and look down at the little book- no doubt about it, it's the very same book I dropped six months ago, when I tripped and dropped it in the puddle. That was the day that had changed my life- I'd never forget it. How Rosabelle had happened to find the book and keep it, mystified me. It's almost like fate drew us together- the fallen book, the letter from her which started our friendship, and the little jean bracelet, which I now can almost guess is from an old pair of jeans my mother donated after they became too big for me.

"I wanted to talk to you..." I say carefully, debating quickly whether or not I should actually tell her Haymitch's suggestion. "About something important."

"Important?" she breathes, looking up at me with wide eyes. "Is it about your secret? I didn't tell anyone, I promise!"

"No, it's not about that," I assure her, smiling. "It's about... the Hunger Games."

"What about them?" she asks, confused. "I know what they are this year. Oh, did you miss the announcement because you were hiding from the Peacekeepers? You were at Katniss' house, right?"

"It's not about the topic this year," I say, minding my words carefully. "It's about Haymitch and... the Games."

"What about Haymitch?" she asks.

"He's... asked me to volunteer, he wants me to train for them. Because I've been training already, you know?" I say.

You could have heard a pin drop. And this being a tailor/cobbler shop, I don't think it would have been that uncommon of an occurrence. Nothing happens though, and the silence goes unbroken for another small while.

"He... asked you to volunteer?" Rosabelle asks, as if to confirm it.

"Yeah," I manage to whisper. "I don't know if I should do it."

"I think..." Rosabelle starts, equally quietly, "You _should_ do it."

_What did you think of the Games theme? Too much? Not enough? Was Haymitch's little speil afterwards In-Character enough to be Haymitch? And what are everyone's thoughts on Rosabelle? I can always add a bit to give her a bit more character, if you guys feel it's necessary. Oh, and if there are any spelling errors or anything, or something you aren't sure that it sounds right, let me know? I did run this through Word, so there shouldn't be, but if there are I'd be glad to hear about them. Thanks for reading! Please leave a review, I love hearing what you think!_


	4. Chapter 4

"I think it makes sense," Rosabelle continues, not bothering to pause and let me take in her answer. "Because you have been training a while now, and you've got a better chance than most of us."

"He did say that," I mutter, my mind moving far ahead of my eyes, which are glued to Rosabelle's blankets disbelievingly. "And we'd be the favorites this year, because of Katniss and Peeta..."

"That's right," Rosabelle says, smiling. "We'll be the favorites. And you've been well-fed, and trained, unlike most of the Seam kids, at least. Katniss has been training with you in the woods, right?" She asks.

"Yes... I know edible plants, and I can run fast," I mutter to myself, as if Rosabelle isn't there. "And I have muscles, apparently," I giggle, looking down at my arm.

"Yes, exactly," Rosabelle beams. "See? You're on the right track already!"

Something about this conversation is wrong. There's a small voice in the back of my head telling me to stop listening to her right now, to walk out, and go home. That volunteering is insanity.

But at the same time, I know she's right. Haymitch is right. If I can be ready for this before it happens, well, it's better me than some other kid, who might have siblings, and need to feed the family. Or a little twelve-year old, some poor girl who doesn't know how to fight at all, let alone even speak correctly. Yes, it's much better me than one of them.

Although... my mother. My mother and Katniss, Prim and Mrs. Everdeen, and of course Rosabelle, they would all miss me terribly. Wouldn't they?

"So?" Rosabelle asks, leaning forward and looking into my eyes. "What do you think? I believe in you, Rina."

Those five words strike me, hard, and I look up, startled. She believes in me. That's right. Of course, Haymitch never could have suggested that without believing in me, could he? No. Nobody is that cruel. Of course he believes in me.

"I'll think about it," I say, standing and starting for the door. In fact I think I will. For a very long while. There are a few too many people who might actually care about me to make a decision this big that quickly.

"Okay," Rosabelle smiles, waving as I start for the door. "I'll see you later, then!"

Something inside tells me she's just a little too happy at the moment. That something's wrong with the way she's waving me off, like it was a party we just discussed, not potentially my life- or the end of it. I brush it off as enthusiasm- she's just excited. I don't know if she really understands the horror the Games must be for the people participating in them.

I slip out the back door again, looking both ways to see if Matrix has really gone, before sprinting through the alley, and back down Main Street. At this point, I can guess safely enough that nobody's awake. I make it all the way though Main Street without another problem, but then come to the Seam again, and stop.

Haymitch is standing right in the middle of the road, the coal-covered dirt making his gray coat, although dirtied, seem whiter. I see no evidence of alcohol on him- his coat is usually that dirty. I wonder if he'd really followed me all this way here.

"Well, sweetheart?" He asks sarcastically.

"Well what?" I snap, striding past him purposefully.

"I think we both know what," he counters, turning and keeping pace with me. "So what'll it be?"

"I don't know yet," I admit, slowing down a little.

There's a moment of silence, before he speaks again. "Look. I know this must be a hard thing to figure out, but I want you to think about-"

"Think about the kids who would have to go through it unless I did? Yeah, I know, Haymitch," I snap, barely keeping my voice below its usual volume. "Think about the kids who won't be as hungry if I win? I know. Think about the advantage I have over most of the other kids here? Yeah, I KNOW!"

My outburst has left him speechless. Perhaps he didn't expect me to be fighting back about this, that I would just see his point and agree. That I was actually stupid enough to just go along with his suicide-mission plan without thinking about the aftermath. That because I train, I don't think as much as someone like Katniss or Peeta does.

Suddenly he takes a step forward towards me, and puts his hands on my shoulders. I don't resist, because I'm so startled by the movement. He pulls me close to his body, and hugs me tightly. I can smell his breath now- there's the slightest hint of alcohol there, but nothing more that his usual, in fact I think it might be less.

"You and me," he whispers. "Are thinkers. I thought my way out of starving- you thought your way out of drowning in food. And after the Games, we'll both be Quellers."

I can't help but hang onto his every word, trying to sort out the conflicting emotions within my head. I want to agree with him, to say I know he's right, but at the same time, I'm so disgusted that he's suggesting it, I can't.

"I was just like you when I was younger. I didn't have many friends, and I was only noticed when the Games forced me to be. And then I was going into those Games, preparing to die. Instead, I worked up enough determination to find a way to win, against the odds. Or maybe with them. I think the odds were in my favor- and they're in yours this time around."

"But I'm scared," I'm surprised to hear myself whisper, and Haymitch just laughs softly.

"And you think I wasn't?" He asks gently. "I was terrified. I just didn't let anyone else see that."

I pull out of his arms, and look into his gray eyes. He's telling the truth, at least this time. I think he really believes I can do this.

"What are they doing for the mentors this year?" I ask, remembering the situation last year. Haymitch had mentored both Katniss and Peeta, because he was the only remaining alive Victor. Now that there were three District Twelve Victors, and four tributes, what would the setup be?

"Just like last year," he informs me, the sentimental moment clearly over. He starts walking again, and I follow, heading towards the Victors' Village. "Peeta and Katniss are together, and I suppose I'm stuck with two of you."

I shrug, nodding. He's probably right. The Capitol will want as much of Katniss and Peeta as they can get, before becoming attached to another couple in the arena. Haymitch will have one of the partnerships to mentor, then.

"If I do volunteer," I start carefully. "After having trained with Katniss and Peeta already,"

Haymitch cuts me off. "You'll want them as mentors? Understandable."

"Actually, I was going to say I want you," I say.

The next 13 days pass in a blur of non-stop training, night visits to Rosabelle, and Haymitch's advice on the walks back. He accompanies me to Rosabelle's house now, giving me pointers for the Games, should I decide to volunteer, the whole way. He waits outside while I talk to her though, and sometimes I'll relate our conversations to him on the way back.

Apparently both of them are of the mind I should volunteer, now. Rosabelle keeps telling me what a wonderful experience it would be, and how much fun it would be if she got picked. I have to remind her about Katniss' nightmares, Haymitch's drinking, and Peeta's constantly sad face every meeting, now. She seems so into the idea of the Games, so excited about it, it's as if she's become a completely different person.

I know she wants to become famous, but I didn't know she wanted it that badly. Fashion-design is one thing, but being picked as a tribute? That's another entirely. According to Rosabelle, Matrix agrees with me. He doesn't think being chosen for the Games is the right way to fame either. Delly and the brother haven't been told of it.

Katniss is training me every morning to run farther, faster, and Peeta takes up the after-lunch period with more weight-lifting. When I ask at the end of the first week whether I can practice with weapons or not, Peeta gives me a warning look, but allows me a small knife, and we practice throwing.

I haven't dared ask Katniss yet. I think she would catch onto what I'm doing, and forbid me from doing it. Maybe she would injure me so I couldn't go to the Reaping. I think that's a little extreme, even for Katniss, but perhaps not. She was in the Games, after all.

Haymitch on the other hand, leaped on my suggestion with a fervor I can't help but admire. Now when Peeta's training ends, he takes me into his house, and lets me use various weapons he has accumulated over the years, buried under piles of old bottles. First it was a knife, like Peeta tried, but I graduated up a rank every day from knife to dagger, dagger to sword, and then to other kinds of weapons.

Now there is only one day before the Reaping. Whether or not I'll volunteer, I haven't decided. I think I've taken a liking to the double-swords, which Haymitch tried to train me in yesterday, but I almost dropped one on my foot, which makes me think sharp things might not be my forte. At the moment, I'm training with Peeta. My throws are almost dead-on, now. In only a week and a half's training.

It doesn't surprise me, per se, I think, while throwing a kitchen knife, and watching it wedge itself between three rocks that serve as our targets. I've always had good aim- once when I was about 12, a boy teased me about my weight, and I threw my history book at his retreating back. It hit him, alright, and he ended up breaking his arm in the fall.

The next knife actually bounces off the hilt of the first, and I sigh in frustration as it spins out, before coming to a halt before Peeta.

"Why are you frustrated over that?" he laughs. "That was a good throw!"

"Because all of them are good throws," I huff. "I'm bored of using knives."

"You'll change your mind," Peeta says, trailing off vaguely, because Katniss is with us today. I know what he meant, though. "You'll change your mind once you're in the arena."

It's become a silent agreement between the two of us, that I will volunteer for the Games. He's not happy about it, but not disputing my decision, which I appreciate. Then there's Haymitch, who fully supports it, and Rosabelle who is ecstatic. I can't help but think how immature she is.

And then there's Katniss. I haven't told her yet, and honestly, don't plan on it. She hasn't questioned my push for more intense training, rather, she's accepted it, almost with relief. I think the Games approaching once more is pushing her to her limit as well- the fact that she's going to have to train two more kids, who are more likely than not going to die in the Games. Peeta is, I think, putting it off until the last second. Not wanting to think about it. I wouldn't want to either, in his position.

"Rina, you're daydreaming again," Katniss' voice calls teasingly.

"I know," I sigh, picking up another knife and aiming, before lowering my arm quickly, and releasing my hold on the blade. It goes whizzing through the air, and then sticks in between the three rocks, right beside the first one. "But don't you think I've done enough for the day?" I complain, striding forward to pry the two knives out from between the rocks. In reality, even I don't think I've done enough for the day. But in Katniss' mind this will have been enough. I just want to go train with Haymitch.

"I suppose," she says thoughtfully, examining the knives I hand her after removing them from the rocks. They're all bent one way or another, and one of them has chipped. These were no soft throws. "Yes, alright, go on." she says after a moment, waving me off.

I beam happily, then start off around the corner, and I can hear Peeta start to follow me.

"Not you," Katniss says, and I hear Peeta start to make an excuse, but she stops him. "I want to talk to you."

I give their exchange no further thought, however, because I'm already racing off across Victor's Village, headed straight for the messy cottage Haymitch calls home. I've grown used to the mess though- and despite Gale's mother's best efforts, so has she. I think after cleaning and re-cleaning the bottles Haymitch leaves all over the place every single day, she gave up, and started cleaning other parts of the house.

As I take the porch's steps two at a time, I reach for the doorknob, and open the door. Haymitch never bothers locking it anymore- he carries a knife everywhere with him anyway. Something about the inside of the house is off today, though. The lights are all off, and there aren't as many bottles as there usually are littering the kitchen table. There appears to have been some kind of breakfast cooking in a pot on Haymitch's stove, but I think he left it on too long, and whatever it was burned into nonexistence. I reach over the blackened pot and turn the oven off, before peering around cautiously.

I step over broken glass shards and then towards the stairs, before bounding up them, two at a time. I keep my footfalls silent like Katniss has taught me to, but move quickly enough to not be hindered by any advantage the silent moving gives me. I know where Haymitch's room is, because he brought me in once last week. It's empty. Completely empty. There isn't even a bed- he sleeps on the floor. The walls are white and there is no furniture. Haymitch says it's to help with the nightmares- the lack of a bed proving he's not in the Capitol, and the white walls telling him he's not in the arena anymore.

Peering into his room, I see Haymitch, lying flat on his back, and several bottles of wine surrounding him. I sigh in relief and slump against the doorframe. He's just drunk. That's different than collapsed somewhere, or dead. Drunk I can deal with.

"Haymitch," I call quietly, taking a step into the room. "Haymitch, it's afternoon already. You shouldn't be asleep still."

He bolts into a sitting position, gripping a knife and holding it before him, before he realizes it's just me, and he relaxes. "Don't you have training to get to?" he asks angrily, his voice slightly slurred.

"I'm done training, already. I was coming to train with you now," I say, stepping into the room and sitting before him. "Have you been drinking all morning?" I ask calmly.

"Yeah, why?" he demands, his face growing a little redder. "S'none of your business."

"It is my business, I train with you. Remember? We've been doing it for a week, Haymitch," I say, slowly inching my hand towards where the knife lays on the ground, intending to take it from him.

"So?" He growls, lurching forward and reaching for a wine bottle near his foot. He upends it above his mouth, but nothing comes out. "Training is useless. You're just gonna die anyway."

"Okay, Haymitch," I say, scooting another few inches towards him. I can't quite reach the knife. Besides, I know he doesn't mean what he's saying at the moment. This happened the first day I tried to train with him- he said more horrible things than that, then. "_Have_ you been drinking, then?"

"Yes," he mutters sourly, before laying back, leaving the knife on the ground.

I dart forward and seize the knife, before sliding it into my pocket. It's better if he doesn't have that at the moment.

"I want the knife back," he growls.

I chuckle a little and remove the blade from my pocket. "Alright, Haymitch," I murmur, placing it beside his hand. I watch his fingers close around the hilt, before I stand. "I'll just go, then. Meet me for the walk tonight, if you can?"

"Sure, whatever you say, sweetheart," Haymitch mutters, his voice slurred, before I start for the door.

"Goodnight, Haymitch," I smile to myself.

"'Night, Rina."

The familiar sounds of softly spoken words from Mrs. Everdeen and Katniss wake me, slowly, ever so slowly. It interrupts my dream, which happens to involve me and a fat yellow canary. The contents of the dream drift away when I try to remember exactly what it was about, and I give up after a few moments, reaching my arms up to the headboard of the bed and stretching.

As soon as my eyes open, I remember the date. Today is the Reaping.

At one o'clock, we will all begin to congregate in the square just beyond Main Street. I will be herded into a pen with all the other sixteen year old kids. Same with the other kids that are of age- 12 to 18. Once you turn nineteen, you go into work at the mines, but you're safe. Training starts at eighteen- which is what Matrix Cartwright is skipping now to slouch around the Hob every day.

I can't determine why my mind instantly went to him, but it doesn't matter. Another, more important thought is nagging me. What am I supposed to do? As far as everyone knows, I'm sick and dying in bed. I can hardly volunteer and be a tribute, if I was, as of two weeks ago, a sick, fat girl.

I don't linger on the thoughts plaguing my mind. I roll out of bed, and push down my hair. Grabbing a hair tie from the bureau, I pull my hair up, and smooth out the jeans and shirt I wore to bed. I forgot to change before falling asleep- I'd been out talking with Rosabelle until even later than usual. Haymitch hadn't shown up for the travel, but I hadn't really expected him to. He was drowning himself in alcohol to dispel the memories of his own Games.

I'll need to change before the Reaping, but we don't even have to be there until one. I've got time, and besides, everyone here has seen me in dirty clothes before. Peeta will either be here still from last night, or gone back to his own house to change, but either way, I don't care. He's only got eyes for Katniss. Prim will be asleep still, and Mrs. Everdeen could care less, I'm fairly certain.

I take the stairs down to the kitchen slowly, stretching as I go to wake myself up. There are voices coming from the kitchen, hushed as I expected. Prim hasn't woken up, then. Katniss is asking when Peeta left, from the few words I can catch between a yawn and a stretch.

As I round the corner, I see Mrs. Everdeen sitting at the coffee table, circles under her eyes, and pouring a cup of coffee. Katniss has just slid into the chair opposite her, and I start forward to take the one between the pair. Both look up as I approach, but neither say a word. I sit down, and accept a cup of coffee from Mrs. Everdeen before bothering to start conversing.

"Peeta left to clean up already?" I ask.

Katniss just nods. "Apparently he left about an hour or so ago. He couldn't sleep either."

Am I the only one not having problems sleeping? Well, aside from Prim, who apparently has no problems there. She's up for the Reaping, too, though. So, what, everyone except those of us who actually _should_ be worrying are worrying?

"I don't have anything to wear-" I start.

"Rina," Haymitch's voice calls, from the front door.

Katniss jumps up and rushes over to the door, pulling it open silently and herding Haymitch inside, making shushing motions. If Prim weren't asleep, she'd probably just yell at him for coming this early. Well, that and if today weren't Reaping day, and any of them had gotten any sleep last night.

"Yeah?" I ask, taking another sip of coffee. It's a little hot, and my tongue screams in protest, but I swallow the mouthful before standing.

"Come here," he says, and goes back out the door.

Katniss gives an exasperated sigh, but shrugs and gestures for me to follow him. As soon as I'm out the door, she slams it behind me, and I jump a little, but manage to keep my balance. Even from here, I can see the Seam and the merchant sections are both empty. People are taking the day slowly- going at a leisurely pace because nobody works on Reaping day. They'll all of them have a large breakfast, and spend time together. Except those families who don't have kids young enough anymore- or they aren't old enough yet. They'll just wait like everyone else, but without the stress and despair.

Haymitch is moving quickly to his house, and I jog a little to catch up with him. I'm still in the process of wondering what he could possibly want me for at this time of the morning when he whirls around, and I have to skid to a halt before I bump into him. He takes a disgruntled step backward, before stopping.

"I... I wanted you to have something," he says vaguely, his voice even gruffer for some unknown reason. I look into his eyes, and find them a little red around the edges. I can't help but wonder if he's been crying, but quickly cover any curiosity, as it might make him mad. Lots of things make Haymitch mad, I've discovered.

"Alright," I say encouragingly. It's unlike him to want to give anyone anything. Let alone me, who he wants to go into the arena.

He shuffles through the door and into the house, then darts down a hallway, and I decide to just wait. His house seems almost clean. There are a few wine bottles on the table, yes, but compared to usual, this is absolutely pristine. Most of the piles of bottles from the floor have been removed, and the way down to his cellar is actually visible, where before, there had been a pile of old boxes and crates. The way to his dining room is also open, whereas usually it's littered with old wrappers and bottles, boxes and all manner of curious objects.

The change in his house startles me, and I'm beginning to wonder if he's slept at all, or if he stayed up all night cleaning. But if that's what keeps him sane, I've no problems with it. It's a million times better than drinking, anyway.

I hear him coming back down the stairs, and I look up, startled. He rounds the corner, and there's an odd piece of wrapped fabric in his arms. He clears his throat awkwardly, before taking another step closer, and holding it out to me.

I take the wrapped thing into my arms, confused, and begin unraveling the top layer. It's a soft silky fabric, one I can't quite name from memory. I think it might be called satin. What's underneath though, I don't expect.

"Oh, Haymitch!" I gasp.

There's a turquoise-blue dress underneath the ivory satin, and I can feel it's another type of silky fabric from the way the satin cover slides against it. There's a little embellishment on the center, which seems to be right underneath where my chest would go. It's made of small blue and brown beads, and the brown beads continue on to weave in little swirling patterns around the waist of the dress. It looks as though it'll go down to my knees, but the top is longer. It has 3/4 sleeves, in a slightly transparent, purposely crinkled type of mesh, and the neckline is a small V shape, with a white shirt collar poking out.

"I thought you might need something to wear to the Reaping," he says, shuffling his feet. "What with all the weight you've lost. Probably lost another person, somewhere along the way," he smiles.

I grin back, before depositing the dress on the table, which is oddly clean, other than the bottles. I throw myself forward, into his arms, and after a moment's surprise, he hugs me back.

Haymitch's dress fits beautifully. It took a half an hour to let everyone back at the Everdeens' gush about it, another half an hour to convince them to let me change into it, and then about an hour for both that and doing my hair. Then Peeta showed up again, and by then Haymitch had cleaned up, and both had asked me to come show them, so naturally I had to accept. Another hour passed in that manner, and when the time for breakfast and lunch was added in, it was already eleven in the morning. I'd woken up later than I thought- Prim was just tired from Peeta's stories the previous night.

It's now twelve o'clock, and everyone else is finishing up. I think Prim is the only one who's finished getting ready, but I can't tell because she keeps hopping around excitedly. Rosabelle's over as well, and the pair of them are like bunnies; they won't sit still. So with two thirteen year old girls racing around, one very flustered seventeen year-old boy trying to stop them, one semi-drunk in the kitchen, and two missing Everdeens, you could guess why I escape upstairs as soon as I can.

Surprisingly though, the two missing Everdeens promptly become un-missing when I reach the second floor. I can see Katniss and her mother in Katniss' room from here, and I decide to leave the pair alone. Her mother is weaving Katniss' hair into her trademark braid, and through her concentration I can tell Mrs. Everdeen can't see the happy expression on Katniss' face, but I can. I slink back down the stairs, hoping not to disturb the pair.

Prim and Rosabelle blow past me, the wind whipping after them tugging at the stick-straight black locks hanging around my shoulders. I laugh and start forward after they pass, aiming for the door. Peeta blocks my way before I can reach it though, tapping my shoulder and pointing in the direction of the kitchen.

"What-?" I start to ask.

Matrix Cartwright is in the kitchen, sitting in a chair across from Haymitch. In his hands is a cup of coffee, and I'm wondering how fast he could have possibly gotten here, since I'd only been upstairs for about five seconds, when the realization hits me. Wait. _Matrix Cartwright is in the kitchen_.

"...are you doing here?" I finish stupidly.

"I'm just here with Rosabelle," he says calmly, looking up at me as if nothing's amiss. "I think the question is what are_ you_ doing here?"

I splutter unintelligibly.

"What have you been doing here for the last six months, actually?" He wonders aloud.

"Well I_ was_ explaining," Haymitch grumbles.

"Oh, as if you haven't been wandering around the Hob like a lost puppy for the last six months," I retaliate. "I think getting fit is a much better use of my time than hunting and selling at the Hob."

"What's a better use of time than my previous lifestyle?" Katniss calls, as her footsteps reverberate around the house, coming down the stairs.

"Nothing," I mutter, before starting for the door.

"Rina, wait-!" Haymitch calls, but I'm already out the door and stalking across Victor's Village, towards Main Street.

I tug the sandals off my feet, provided by Katniss, and hold them in one hand, before I start running towards my house. I haven't seen my mother in weeks, and my father literally in months, not that I care about the latter. I want to look in my mother's mirror before the Reaping- see the change that's taken place over these months skipping school, and changing my life around.

And just in case I decide to volunteer, I want to be in my home one last time before I potentially never see it again.

The streets are still empty. The camera crews haven't even bothered to set up on the rooftops yet- they always wait until a half an hour before the Reaping. That way, the people in the Capitol don't get bored with sooty old District Twelve before the entertainment can even start. Every street is deserted, and every house in the Seam has a fire lit, or else a candle or two. Nobody will be outside yet- better wait until they absolutely have to.

Parker's shop is closed. I know where the hidden key is, though. Underneath the mat in front of the door. Original, no. Effective, yes. Once inside the shop, I place the key in Parker's desk- he always has his own anyway. The stairwell up to my house is unlocked as usual, and I'm hoping my father isn't there.

I don't realize I'm up the stairs until I look down, and then I'm smiling like an idiot. The climb was nothing, this time around. Stairs, zero. Marina, one.

My mother is home, and I can tell she is because I can hear her brushing her hair and humming, in the bathroom. I rap my knuckles against the door a few times, and shift awkwardly from one foot to the other. Her humming stops, but not before I recognize the tune. It sounds like an old song they sing to get babies to fall asleep. I think it's the song Katniss sang to that other tribute, Rue, while she died. Eerie.

My mother opens the door, and I can see she's about to ask who's there, but then her eyes fall upon my face, and she freezes up. I freeze up too, I think. I couldn't possibly have known before now, but I've been waiting to see my mother again. As if I had something to prove. She's just wanted me to get better all along- and I've done more than that. She draws me into her arms, and I wrap mine around her without difficulty.

"Hi, mom," I whisper.

"Hi, Rina," she part laughs, part cries.

We stand like this for another minute or so, before more pressing matters invade my happy place.

"I need to do something before the Reaping," I say, breaking out of her grip. "Can you... go spread it around that I'll be going?"

"Of course!" she exclaims, and I can see her rush into the room with her closet, to get ready quickly.

Meanwhile I start for her room. This is... the moment of truth. The mirror in her room is unchanged, I see as I take the first step into the space. It still angles in towards the bed, so I can't see my reflection in it yet. One more hesitant step towards the glass brings one of my arms into view. It's certainly not the same arm I saw in this mirror six months ago. This new arm is strong, and unexpectedly tiny.

I take another step to the side, compelled by the bright outlook my one arm has given me, and I'm rewarded with my own gasp. This person in the mirror is, in a word, gorgeous.

She's short, maybe 5'4" or 5'5", but that doesn't stop her from absolutely radiating beauty. Her long black locks look vaguely familiar, but these don't frame fat cheeks like the ones I know. Rather, they make her dainty face stand out from between their black lengths. Her eyes are a startlingly silver gray color, in the sunlight, and her lips and nose have now become prominent whereas before they were hidden in her cheeks.

Her body is slender and curved, even though she isn't all that tall. Where before her figure was more of a blob, now it has become an hourglass, complete with hips, and legs free of the excess fat of before. Her arms are slightly muscled, you can see even under the dress, and her hands are blissfully thin compared to six months ago. And her legs, oh her legs! All the fat is gone- completely vanished. Taking its place is not just leg, but muscle. Even more so than her arms, her legs are muscled, incredibly. Katniss' laps have paid off.

I press a hand to my cheek in wonder, half expecting to be stopped by a pudgy cheek as I'm used to, in this house. But no wall of skin stops me, and the girl in the mirror copies my action exactly. Because I'm no longer that girl.

I clutch my mother's hand -rather like a small child- tightly as she rushes through the crowd, trying to reach the pen where they put the potential tributes before the names are drawn. I'm late, because it's already after one. Too many people have gathered for us to make it easily through the crowd, although the ceremony doesn't start until two.

We shove mercilessly past mineworkers and shopkeepers alike, and then just parents who are too busy gnawing their own fingernails off to notice our rude passing. Finally we reach the clearing between the pens and the crowd of adults and young children- the mass of eight thousand District Twelve residents. About half of us are merchants, and half of us Seam. All of us, though, are unified in this one instance. None of us want this to be happening.

Even the merchant kids have reason to be worried, I think as I push past the pen of eighteen year olds, then seventeens, because they receive tesserae as well. Just not as much as say, the Seam kids who never have enough money to feed the large families. I believe the rule is that on the eighth of every month, if you are of age, you can sign up and receive tesserae, which is something like a month's worth of grain and oil. I wouldn't know, because I've never, not once, had to sign up for such a thing. I think my mother did when she was younger, but with my father providing all the income we could possibly need, here in this District, and then some, it hasn't been an issue.

I barely make it to the pen of sixteen year olds, boys and girls from my school I haven't seen in literally half a year, and none of them so much as glance at me, as the Mayor stands and goes to the podium. I turn and look up, my thoughts having been effectively derailed.

The Mayor begins his usual lengthy recap of the history of Panem, and then the Dark Days. I'm able to tune him out easily, and observe my surroundings.

The first thing I notice is that it's a half an hour early. Maybe all the reapings have been moved up a little, I wouldn't know. Then again, it makes sense. Two more tributes from every District, more time to show it is necessary. I wonder if a half an hour is enough to do it, before I remember that the speeches are never broadcast. Too boring for the Capitol. In which case, half an hour is more than enough time.

My eyes drift over to where the Mayor had been sitting previously, and I see Katniss, Peeta and Haymitch all sitting in the chairs beside where the Mayor's was. Effie Trinket, the escort for District Twelve is beside them, and listening avidly to the Mayor's speech, or at least pretending to. I'm fairly certain she's been our escort long enough to have memorized the thing. Her hair this year is nearly the same powder-pink color, but it hangs in ringlets around her face. Rather than last year's spring green suit, she has on a yellow one, with flowers decorating the pencil skirt.

Haymitch sits the farthest from her, as the oldest Victor, and I'm a little surprised to find he's gotten cleaned up since an hour ago. He took the time to shave, I notice, and he's nowhere near as drunk as last year. A black suit jacket and pants must be absolutely frying him, but he doesn't show it if they are. There's a red bowtie around his neck, and I'm reminded of the one he wore last year to the interview after Katniss and Peeta won the Games.

Beside him sits Peeta, in nearly the same black suit, but his is not a bowtie, and it has shimmering flame designs up the length. He clasps hands with Katniss, looking solemn enough to be suitable for the reading of the speech, but I can guess how upset this pretending to be in love with Katniss act is making him. Because it's hardly an act on his part, is it?

Katniss grips Peeta's hand with her eyes angled down to her skirts. She has on a red velvet slip of a dress, that goes down to her knees like mine, but hers has multiple mesh layers on the inside, presumably so she doesn't swelter within the velvet dress. It has a halter collar, and sleeves that aren't quite attached. I would be jealous if red were my color, but it wasn't, and I already had a brilliant blue dress -blue, which I prefer over red any day- courtesy of Haymitch.

Mayor Undersee's speech finally concludes, and he introduces Effie Trinket. She says her typical lines, "Happy Hunger Games! And may the odds be _ever_ in your favor!" -which I believe are the same every year,- before she starts, in her tall heels, over to the glass balls with the slips of paper. My name is written only five times in that ball, the one with the girls' names. Once for every year since I've turned twelve, as it goes with most of the merchants' children. The Seam kids always have the worst luck in this matter.

"Ladies first!" Effie Trinket trills, and plunges her hand into the ball, reaching for the slip, on which will be written the name of a girl whose life will be changed forever, after the picking. She pulls her hand out after a moment, and unfolds the piece of paper in her hands. "Pasquale Adomo! Step forward, please!"

Pasquale is in my year. I don't know her that well, but I know her name well enough to know she's always been one of those who does anything to advance herself in the social status. She's not one for fools, even though she does surround herself with them and calls them friends. One fool move on their part and they're out. That's about all I know about her. She's one of the community home kids, too, so she won't be missed that much in the familial sense.

She steps forward from the back, and we all move aside to make room for her. She's trembling slightly, and her blonde hair is blowing behind her face in the slight wind. She has the gray Seam eyes, and the thin lips, but the blonde hair and sloped nose of a merchant. I don't think anyone knows who her parents are. Her dress is old and a little torn -dirty white covered in faded pink flowers- it's obvious she doesn't have enough money for something as fine as my own dress.

My only direct recollection of any contact with her was one of the times I was being teased, and Pasquale was with her boyfriend, one of the ruder offenders. He'd said something about needing double doors to fit through, and she'd laughed with him. I just walked away.

No, I wouldn't volunteer for this girl. Maybe the next one would have a large familiy to feed, and I'd at least feel better about it then. If it was a merchant, there was no reason to even bother. Their families had enough to eat- saving them would be nothing noble.

"A round of applause for our first tribute, ladies and gentlemen!" Effie Trinket calls cheerfully, putting an arm around Pasquale's shoulders.

The crowd claps rather lifelessly, before Effie Trinket stops them by starting the rarely-used tradition of asking for volunteers. I suppose after last year's episode, everyone had decided it might be smart to learn up on these things, just in case an episode like last year's came up again. Just as well, nobody volunteered for Pasquale.

I can't help but feel a little bad for her- her eyes scan the crowd desperately, and she locks eyes with some of her friends several times, but they all just look down ashamedly. Still, I will not volunteer to die for this girl, who's never once done a nice thing for me.

"And now the first boy!" Effie Trinket wobbles over to the other glass ball, and stuffs her arm in once again. It's abnormally quiet, because usually the crowd is still muttering and gathering winning bets on the girl by the time it has switched over to the male tribute.

This year, though, there's still another female tribute to be picked, then a second male. Nobody's bothered going about collecting winning bets yet because the show's only half over. Effie Trinket finally drags her arm up and out of the ball, and in it she clutches the second piece of paper of the reaping. Her long manicured nails peel open the slip of paper, and out of it she reads, "Theodore Askes!"

I don't know this boy. There's motion in the clump of fourteens, though, and I see him stumble out from their midst, and look back at them once before mounting the stage. Effie Trinket asks for the same applause and gets about the same amount, before moving onto the volunteer process, same as Pasquale. None step forward, and he takes a few uncertain steps over to where Pasquale stands waiting. He looks up hopefully at her, but she only sneers down at the younger boy and moves away a step.

"For our second lady," Effie Trinket begins, taking another few shaky steps back over to the girls' glass ball. "We have..." Her hand dives into the paper pool for a third time, and the only fleeting thought crossing my mind is, _I wonder how many paper cuts she's going to have after today_. She pulls out the third piece of paper triumphantly, and unfolds the tiny slip. "Rosabelle Cartwright!"

I blink, completely taken aback. Not quite as startled as Katniss must have been when Prim was chosen last year, but startled enough to freeze up for a moment while my mind tried to catch up with it's surroundings.

Only three areas over, in the thirteens, Rosabelle steps out, and face pale, walks slowly up the stairs to the platform. Effie Trinket is grinning that huge, stupid Capitol grin, and I can see Katniss' face pale from here. Peeta grasps her hand tighter, as if to reassure her. Haymitch is... drunk, in a word. I don't think he's realized exactly what's going on either. I hear a shuffling noise on my right, and I turn and peer over the shoulders of the other sixteens to see Matrix Cartwright pushing through the eighteens, leaning out over the rope and watching helplessly as his sister walks up to Effie Trinket, to become a tribute.

My mind starts flying through the calculations instantly. Rosabelle will certainly lose.

Delly pushes through the seventeens, which offer no resistance as she forces her way to the front of her pen. Her nails dig into the rope as soon as she has a hold of it, and I can see the strain in her features. She can't decide if she's supposed to volunteer or not.

On my left side, there's yet another scuffle as the third Cartwright forces his way to the forefront of the fifteens. His gray eyes are steely and determined, but he knows there's nothing he can do. And from the frown on his face, I can easily guess Matrix has made it certain in his mind he's not allowed to volunteer.

"There we are!" Effie Trinket calls happily. "Let's have a round of applause!"

There's no chance a thirteen year old girl could win the Games against seventeen and eighteen year old competitors, who've been trained their whole lives for this.

The crowd grumbles quietly, like they did last year before Prim was replaced by Katniss. Nobody likes when the young kids get picked- their lives are instantly cut down to a few more weeks, if that.

I know Rosabelle wanted fame and fortune by being in the Games, but even she wanted that years in the future, not in the now. She was going to die.

"Do we have any volunteers?" Effie Trinket asks, placing her long manicured hands on Rosabelle's shoulders, and facing us, in the pens.

And the Cartwrights would hate me if they ever found out I'd been intending to volunteer for one of the chosen tributes, and didn't...

Rosabelle's eyes search the sixteens for a moment, before she sees me, between the shoulders of two other girls. Our eyes meet in just that one moment, and I can see the terror she's feeling. Her dream isn't so amazing now that she's the center of it.

There's a small sound beside me, to my right, and I look over to see Delly, her mouth half-opened, a strangled sound coming out of her mouth. Nobody except the rest of the kids in the pens can hear her. For which I'm grateful. I've made up my mind.


	5. Chapter 5

"I volunteer!" I call. I'm right in the front of the pen. It's no problem for me to take two strides forward, to the very edge of it, and stand up straight.

I can practically feel all the cameras turning to look at me, and then I briefly meet Katniss and Peeta's eyes apologetically before looking back up towards Effie Trinket. Her eyes meet mine for a moment, and I see a little... curiosity, isn't it? She seems to be wondering why someone like me would volunteer for this, when clearly District Twelve barely stands a chance. Regardless, she sends Rosabelle back to her pen with a little tap on the back, and grins superficially to welcome me up.

The kids in front of me move aside, turning to look down questioningly at me. Who am I? I hear them muttering. Nobody's even guessed that I'm the same girl as six months ago. Then again I wouldn't either, given a picture of us both.

I take the steps up to the podium slowly, carefully, so that nobody can see I'm shaking. I can't quite grasp the severity of what I've just done.

Effie Trinket smiles again, putting her hand on my shoulder. "Your name?"

"Marina Valli," I say calmly.

Effie Trinket just nods. She probably doesn't care. "A big round of applause for our volunteer, Marina!"

A few people clap, actually there are probably more people clapping for me than there were Pasquale or Theodore, but there aren't many. Most of the people in the crowd are looking at me, shocked. All of them merchants. I don't know many Seam families, and they're just confused by the merchant families' reactions. I look back over towards the pens to see how my former classmates have reacted, how Delly and the younger Cartwright boy have reacted, but instead my eyes fall upon the pen of eighteen year olds.

Matrix Cartwright is standing in the very front of them, still. I remember he's pushed his way there, and doesn't care to move to the back, hide himself in the bodies now. He's staring straight at me. When he notices he's caught my eye, he nods grimly. I catch the message without words. _"Thank you."_

Effie Trinket bids me stand over next to Theodore, who looks up at me and smiles nervously. I can't help but smile back. He's so young. I can still see the baby fat on his cheeks, and the way he still has to grow a little to fit into that overlarge head. Even though he's the same height as me, and two years younger.

Pasquale meanwhile, has decided not to look at me. All for the better, I suppose. It's already been decided we'll be rivals. Her, I will have to kill in the arena. Theodore, perhaps not.

Effie Trinket has already meandered over to the boys' ball again, and now she reaches in for the second slip of paper condemning one boy from this crowd. She pulls it out after a few seconds' deliberation, and unfolds it carefully. Then she pauses for a moment. "Oh! Well, it seems as though we would have had a brother-sister pair, if not for our volunteer here!"

I freeze. _If not for our volunteer here_... I volunteered for Rosabelle. Meaning-

"Price Cartwright!" Effie Trinket exclaims.

The crowd starts murmuring to each other, not knowing who this boy could be. I don't know either. Unless she means Rosabelle's blonde brother. But he is not moving. In fact, his eyes are directed to the right. To where the other Cartwright boy stands, shocked, frozen.

"Price Cartwright?" she calls, slightly less enthusiastically.

Matrix does move then, he takes a step forward out of the eighteens' pen, and strides confidently up the podium, to Effie Trinket's side. He extends a hand, and she shakes it, surprise etched all across her face. "It's Matrix," he says calmly. "Matrix Cartwright."

I think everyone is so stunned, they've forgotten to clap. A tribute having this attitude in this District is beyond abnormal- it's unheard of. "Tribute" in District Twelve, until last year, basically meant scapegoat.

Effie Trinket blinks a few times, as Matrix walks over to where the three of us stand, and he extends his hand to me. I shake it, confused, but going along with whatever he's playing at for now. It can hardly hurt anything. Right? He offers his hand to Pasquale as well, but she just sneers at him before looking out into the distance again.

Effie Trinket forgets to ask for applause. The rest of the proceedings go undisturbed, and then it was over. A few officials start to herd us four towards the Justice Building.

I've been there several times- when I was younger, before my father and I agreed to ignore each other, he used to take me there when he had business to do. Now he just goes alone, and we pretend the other doesn't exist. He would do that to my mother as well, but she does share a bed with him.

Once we're inside, they separate us into four different rooms. Mine is rather small, compared to other rooms I've been in while here, but large compared to say, a house in the Seam. There's a red velvet couch, and I cross the room to sit on it, and wait.

A few words echo through my mind as I sit, my fingers scratching at the base of my dress nervously.  
><em>What have I done?<em>

The first one to enter the Justice Building's waiting room is my mother.

She takes less than a minute to reach the room- I can hear her demanding she be let in to visit with me. I assume my father will have already started back for the house. He won't care. The guards outside decide she can come in, although she's earlier than the visitors usually are. The doors have barely opened a foot when she shoves herself between them, then throws herself the rest of the way through and runs over to me.

I rise, the tears already forming in my eyes, and run to meet her. My sandals fall off about halfway there, and I stumble, but keep running until I reach her arms, and clasp my own around her back. The tears are running down my face, and I ignore them, burying my face in her jacket shamelessly. I could stand here forever, if they'd only let me. But I know I only have a few minutes, and I want to make it count. With great difficulty, I loosen my arms from around her, and she does the same grudgingly.

"Mom, I love you," I whisper before she can start crying as well. Unfortunately, she'd been about to say the same thing, and the tears start pouring down her cheeks, and she bites her lip to remain silent. "I love you so much. But if I die, know why I did this- for Rosabelle. You can... ask them to move in with us, or move closer to them or something... they'd love to have you, I know you can sew, and you'll be so lonely otherwise..."

"I'll be fine," she manages to choke out, smiling tearfully down at me. "But you... so young...!"

"Don't worry about me," I say, rubbing her arm consolingly. "I'll... I'll make it out of this, I'm sure. None of these other tributes have... or... are used to working in pairs. I train with Katniss, I should be fine-"

"You'll win this. I know you will," she says, leaning in and kissing my forehead. She wraps her arms around me again, and this time there's no reason for me to make her stop, and so I don't.

We stand like this for the remainder of the time we have, until the guard calls in and tells us it's time for her to go. I pull away reluctantly, and bid her go, before they pull her out. Katniss told me they did that to Gale, last year. I wave to her before the doors close, and then cross to the couch, and sit down again.

The velvet is not providing any traction while I'm in this dress, and I keep sliding forward, and having to support myself with my feet. The sandals are across the room, on the floor. I don't care anymore. I'll have new clothes in the Capitol, anyway. I squeeze my bare toes together on the itchy rug, hoping to smooth a little of it out, without much success. I'm not expecting any more visitors, because Rosabelle and her family will be with Matrix, surely, so I'm surprised when the doors open again.

Mrs. Everdeen and Prim enter, and they're both as pale as sheets, and as grim as the guards seem to constantly look. I can only watch them, because I'm so shocked, until Prim sits on the couch beside me, and takes my hand in hers. Mrs. Everdeen sits on the side opposite me, and I think she's toying with my hair, but I can only look at Prim.

She's staring at me so conflictingly- thankfully, because Rosabelle won't have to go into the arena, but fearfully because I will. Then there's some sadness- she can guess she won't see me in person after this, if I'm not in a wooden box, and as pale as her.

"Katniss and Peeta would have come..." Mrs. Everdeen starts beside me. "But since they'll be the mentors this year, they're not allowed. They asked me to tell you..."

"Tell me what?" I prod, beginning to turn towards her.

"No don't turn around, I'm not finished," She says, tugging on my hair to inform me what she's not finished with. "They said to tell you that was the single bravest and stupidest thing they've ever seen a person do, before."

"And Haymitch?" I ask quietly.

"Haymitch left for the train station. Even though it's an hour early to be there," Prim answers. "He seemed upset."

"Did he?" I muse quietly. That makes me worried. Is Haymitch possibly rethinking his idea to send me into the Games? Has he possibly gotten too attached to me to be able to watch me go through this?

We sit in silence for another few minutes, and Mrs. Everdeen is still playing with my hair when the guards come, calling for them both to leave. She hastily ties her creation off with what feels like an elastic, when I reach back and touch it, but they're both gone too quickly for me to inquire as to what she did.

I examine the thing with my touch only, because there are no reflective surfaces in here, unless you count the door, but the only coat of polish on it is probably still wet, and I don't want to bother. Feeling up from bottom to top, I gather that there is a braid hanging down the center of my hair, on the back of my head. It connects at the top of its length to two other braids, which seem to stem out on both sides of my head, until they end, right at my temples. I can only imagine how it must look. The mental image I get is nice though, and I smile a little.

Certainly there are no more visitors coming for me, but I'm surprised again when the door opens a third time. Rosabelle rushes through first, and as she runs across the room towards me, and I sit there, shocked, I observe her eyes are red and puffy already.

"I'm so sorry!" She cries as she throws herself onto the couch beside me and buries her face in my skirts. "I didn't want this to happen! I swear I didn't!"

"Shhh," I say, stroking her hair gently. "I know you didn't want it to happen. I know. It's alright."

This is a curious situation. Neither of her parents or her siblings have come to visit me. Not that I expected that much. And she's crying in my lap, upset over the fact that I've volunteered, exactly what she's been telling me for weeks I should do, and she wishes I hadn't. I thought I was the one going to my death, here. I shouldn't be the one doing the comforting.

Rosabelle spends the rest of her five minutes just crying, and I murmur vague reassurances to her, hoping she might stop soon. I'm still crying as well, mostly because I won't get to see my mother again. I can contain it more easily now, but I'm still crying. Any hope of my being able to appear collected for the cameras has been washed away- my face will be as red and splotchy as Rosabelle's, when it's time for me to leave.

Her time comes, and a guard escorts her out when I can't untangle her from my skirts. I'm crying even more, now, because she's pleading to stay with me, to spend more time with me, before I'm gone. I don't know why I should, but I'll miss her. Her, this reason for which I'm going into the Games.

There are still a few minutes remaining in my time for visitors. None are coming though, and this time I'm completely certain. I don't know anyone else, do I? I try to keep my thoughts away from the fact that within a week I'll either be a murderer, or dead. Either way, any sense of self I've previously held is gone.

That thought smacks me harder than the others. I won't be myself, anymore in a week. Either not myself, or dead. The full impact of my decision to volunteer is hitting me only now- and I can't believe I haven't given this more thought before deciding. My life is now gone. Irreparably altered, or gone. I can no longer be the girl I've been for sixteen years- of which I've only now begun to find myself, six months. Six months of change, and all of it undone in a second.

Before I can even register what's happening, my body has curled up in a ball on the velvet sofa, and the tears are pouring out of my eyes like water out of a faucet. I have no will to move anymore, no will to live, until I find a purpose to do so. What have I done? What have I got myself into this time?

People surround me -the guards, I think, and perhaps the Mayor has come as well- all talking at me at once, begging and pleading for something. I don't hear them. Don't or can't, which I can't decide.

I think they are asking me to stand up, won't I please stand up, and would I rather they carried me out, looking as if I were a coward, perhaps they should lift me off the couch. My only response is to bury my face between my knees, because I can't deal with all the faces watching me.

Too many people watching me has always made me nervous. When I address a group of people, I usually stare at the ground rather than their faces. Some people can talk to a crowd- I can neither talk to one nor deal with one face to face without growing at least mildly ill. With all of the guards and the Mayor -and I believe Effie Trinket's sticky Capitol accent has joined them now- talking at me at once, I can't think, aside from the fact that my brain can't process my being a tribute.

Suddenly there are hands around my waist, and I'm being pulled away from the sofa, out of my protective curl. I claw at the velvet, letting out a squeal of dismay at both the touch and the unwanted movement, and try to kick out at them. Their unrelenting hands refuse to release my waist though, and soon I'm being flipped over, and I find myself locked in Matrix Cartwright's arms, one arm under my knees, with the dress tucked beneath, and the other holding my back.

I just look at him -stare is probably a more accurate description, really- for a while, until the people around us stop protesting. Then he speaks.

"You gonna be alright?" he asks calmly.

I can see he hasn't forgotten why I've volunteered. I'm grateful- otherwise, I would be in this completely alone. But with him, there is a common factor. We're both here for Rosabelle- and if we're going to live, it's going to be with Rosabelle in our lives. Him I can relate to. I nod.

"Good, then," he smiles reassuringly. "Do you want to walk, or am I taking you to the train? Your little episode there cost us the picture time."

I think on this for a moment. I believe if I were to try to walk, my legs would collapse beneath me. I still can't stomach the fact I'll come out of this experience a murderer, or not at all. My stomach flips unnervingly, and I can't even manage to shake my head.

"I'll take that as a no," he grins, as he watches my face turn slightly green.

As our little entourage walks through the Justice Building, I consider the rest of his words. We've missed the pictures? Those usually take about ten minutes. I couldn't have guessed I would be unresponsive for that long.

I wonder briefly if Theodore and Pasquale have boarded the train yet, had their pictures taken, before I decide I don't care. They're more likely than not going to be my rivals. Well, if Theodore isn't, then I'm in the arms of one of my rivals. All in all, I'm not doing very well.

The entourage crosses the threshold of the building, and suddenly there are flashes everywhere, almost like lightning, but constant. The chatter of the crowd reaches my ears too loud, too soon, and I bury my face in Matrix's chest. I don't need them taking pictures of my blotchy face! And especially not while I look like this. My dress must be a mess by now, I'm missing my shoes, and my face will be all red and splotched for at least the next hour. They can take all the pictures of my back as they like- but I'm not untangling myself from Matrix's dress shirt any time soon.

He puts a protective hand on the back of my head, so I don't have to keep gritting my teeth together when he has to veer to one side to avoid a photographer, and my neck strains to remain close to him. It's actually quite helpful, and I can relax for the moment, until we're on the train.

The atmosphere goes from hot to cold in an instant, and I know we've reached the train. There's a step up, and then doors close behind us, and Effie Trinket rushes off, inquiring as to where Pasquale and Theodore have gotten to.

I take my face hesitantly away from Matrix's shirt, and see he's still moving. The train hasn't started yet, but I can hear from the sounds of the engine that it's ready to go. Matrix walks into a large type of dining room, and pulls out a heavily padded chair with one foot. He leans down slowly, and deposits me in the chair.

I look up at him both gratefully and embarrassedly, hoping he doesn't take my breakdown as a sign of weakness. He just nods understandingly, taking the chair beside mine, and pulling it over to face me.

"So you're really alright?" He asks.

"Yeah, I'm... fine," I say haltingly. "Considering I'm probably going to die in about a week. Yeah, other than that, I'm fine."

He smiles at this. I get a flush of pride at eliciting this smile, which I've never seen on his face before. This is unusual for me especially, because I've hardly ever talked to boys, let alone older boys.

"That's good," he says, the smile fading. "_Honestly_ though, how are you feeling?"

"Feeling?" I snort. "I've been flying by the seat of my... skirts. I've been in shock. But honestly? I'm scared as hell I won't make it out of this, or if I don't, that my mom won't."

He nods grimly. "I know what you mean. I'm not exactly... thrilled about this either."

"Well how are you _honestly_ feeling?" I ask, mimicking his question.

"Honestly?" he laughs. "I'm probably just as scared as you."

Our talk is interrupted as Effie Trinket reenters the room, with Pasquale and Theodore trailing glumly behind her. I expect they've just been caught doing something immature, by the looks on both their and Effie Trinket's faces.

"Before you four go and do anything else," Effie Trinket says, glaring at the back of Pasquale's head as she and Theodore take places across from us at the table. "You need to decide who you'll be working with. It's a rule this year that this is done first, because you'll be sleeping in the same room with your partner."

My eyes widen, and I'm itching to look at Matrix or the others, to see how they take this news, but I keep my head firmly directed towards Effie Trinket. I think I can hear her mutter under her breath, "Lord only knows what will go on in those rooms, but it's not my stupid rule..."

I snort. Everyone turns to stare at me, but Effie Trinket looks away, blushing. Then I'm blushing too, because not only are Matrix's eyes on me -and for some reason I can handle Matrix looking at me without embarrassment- but Theodore and Pasquale are eyeing me now, too.

"Well?" Effie Trinket snaps, after mostly clearing the blush from her features. "Who'll be with who, then, hmm?"

I glance at Matrix, and he's looking across the table at Theodore and Pasquale. I look over at the other pair as well, and Pasquale is pointedly glaring at the carpet beneath the table. Theodore is looking longingly at Pasquale.

"Well," Matrix starts, clearing his throat. "Going by functionality, I know my best talent is running. I'll stand a better chance in the trees and on the go than in the scuffle."

Pasquale nods agreement, clearly trying to suck up. She'd rather have the eighteen year old than the fourteen year old.

"Can you run?" He asks, turning to Pasquale.

She's clearly startled by his addressing her, and isn't prepared for the question. She blinks a few times, before shaking her head slowly. No, she doesn't look like she can run, either.

Matrix turns to look at me then, and completely serious, as if he's never before met me, he asks, "Can _you_ run, kid?"

I blink a few times as well. Pasquale wasn't completely overreacting, then, when she looked completely shocked by his question. I nod, taken aback by the sudden change in him. Why was he being so serious now?

"I'll take you, then," he says, as if this settles everything.

"I don't mind being paired with you, Pasquale," Theodore says in that quiet little voice of his, and Pasquale just snorts.

My heart goes out to the boy, but at the same time, I can't help but hope the two of them develop a hate of each other, and can't work together. It's official- they're my competition.

"These are the teams, then?" Effie asks, her superficial Capitol smile back in place. "Good, good. Why don't you all go see your rooms, then?"

I mentally translate this to mean, "Get out of my hair before I go insane." I look over at Matrix, and he shrugs, before standing.

Our room is, in a word, luxurious. Ridiculously so.

The carpets are a thick, soft material, in a light cream color I'm fairly certain you can't even find in District Twelve because of the coal dust everywhere. The two beds inhabiting this room are both enormous- even bigger than the bed my mother and father share, in our apartment.

If it's possible, Matrix is even more awed by the room than I am. I think he's spent the last ten minutes in the bathroom, examining the different appliances, and he's just turned the water on for a shower when I find the drawers with the clothes in them.

It's even better than I could have hoped for- all the clothes come in various sizes, so I can find mine somewhere in there. Haymitch's dress certainly can't be what I'm wearing to dinner, because I can see from only looking in one drawer, it's extremely casual, compared to what's here. The fact that I don't have a pair of shoes to match only adds to my sense of indecency.

Matrix seems to be rather engrossed in his shower, and I'm more than happy to leave him to it, so I scrounge through the bottom drawer, looking for something to wear to dinner. They have fancy evening dresses, in every color from purple to gold and back, as well as the shorter cocktail dresses, with puffy skirts and frilly tops. Everything is in sizes ranging to one above and below my own current size, and I'm honestly a little surprised they can gather my size just from seeing me during the reaping.

The only one that really stands out to me is a cocktail dress, one that only goes down to about halfway down my thighs, and has black lacework above a glittering aquamarine base fabric. The bottom is puffy with mesh on the inside, to make it swirl out about my legs without my twirling. Above the built-in corset of the dress, the top rounded around her chest in a curious fashion, dipping a bit lower than I might have liked, but perhaps it wouldn't be so bad. Pasquale would certainly be dipping into her own drawer for a dress to wear to dinner, as well. Probably trying to outdo me, to look better for Matrix.

Matrix's shower has concluded, and I think he's now rummaging around the rather large bathroom for a towel, with little success. The door is solid wood, though, so it's not as if I can see anything of him. I'm wondering what's taking so long about it when I see why he can't find the towels. They're all in one neat pile right outside the door. All of them fluffy and white and clean, and waiting for someone to take them into the bathroom. Which an undressed Matrix is occupying.

"Matrix," I call, standing up and crossing to the bathroom door. "The towels are out here."

There's an awkward silence for about a second, before he cusses loudly. "Can you... pass one in, then?" He asks.

I nod, before remembering he can't see me. "Sure," I say, leaning over and grabbing one of the fluffy white things. "Open the door?" I suggest.

"Not all the way," he says frantically. The door opens a crack, and I make an effort not to look in the direction of the door.

After about a second of my holding the towel awkwardly and his not taking it, I look to the crack, and see he's preoccupied with staying out of sight, and can't reach the towel. His fingertips are reaching for the thing, and missing by a mere fraction. I can't help but grin. I then move the towel further from his range, forcing him to move closer. His chest comes into sight then, and I'm frozen looking at it. He's got _abs_.

He snatches the towel from my fingertips with a growl, and I laugh, unable to stop myself.

"It's not funny!" He complains, but there's more desperation in his voice than real accusation. "If this were you on the other side, would you still be laughing?"

That shut me up. He got in his towel and came out, and I wrapped the dress in a dry towel and swapped places with him. He hadn't been examining this bathroom for so long for nothing. It was huge, and pristine, except for the puddle-ridden, tiled floor, upon which each puddle was gradually sliding towards the back of the bathroom, with the movement of the train.

I carefully slid Haymitch's gift off my body, and making sure not to let the puddles on the floor touch it, I folded it and placed it on the counter beside the sink. My undergarments were filthy and ratty compared to the ones I'd found in the second drawer of the bureau, and I dropped them straight into the toilet and flushed, because I knew they'd just end up on the track anyway. Besides, I'd prefer not to throw those out the window in sight of Matrix.

I turned on the shower with a little difficulty, before stepping in. It was different from my own shower back home, and even Katniss' for a few reasons. My own shower was a clunky, rusty old thing, that didn't work all that well, but not many people in District Twelve had showers, so I dealt with it. It only gave spurts of water in general, let alone hot water. We only ever had hot water the day before the reaping, _some_ years. No, they weren't particular about when we got luxuries.

Katniss' shower was slightly better than mine, clean and new, but she only got hot water on and off as well. This shower, I assume has hot water all the time, whenever it's needed. It's lovely, really. Once I'm in the shower, my whole body relaxes, unknotting and loosening in places I hadn't even known were tense.

I must have taken a half an hour in that shower, taking the time to wash out my hair -although carefully avoiding the braids Mrs. Everdeen had created- and really scrub my skin down. There had been layers of coal on my skin I had completely forgotten about, and they all seemed to just melt away under the steaming water. I could actually see the water darkening to the point where it was almost black, and then rushing down my body, and down the drain. It was fascinating, really, but once the gray stream of water stopped, I gave up scrubbing my skin.

I dried my hair off thoroughly with the white towel, and then slipped the dress on. It fit to my curves tightly, in a way I was not at all used to. Even Haymitch's dress had been loose except the one decorated band around the waist. This dress fit to my every curve, and I tried to move as little as possible for fear that it might split, the material was so thin.

I could hear some sort of argument going on outside of the room, but I ignored it. My hair was the most pressing issue at the moment. The braids made by Mrs. Everdeen were getting tangled in my mass of straight, black hair, and everything was starting to grow into one large knot. I gave up, and combed apart the loose hair until it hung over and around the braided part. I think it gives me a more natural look, but unfortunately said look clashes with this clearly city-made dress.

I open the bathroom door, and almost wish I hadn't.

Katniss is arguing with Matrix, at the door of the room, and he's not exactly blocking her, but he's not letting her inside either. Peeta is standing awkwardly behind her, almost backing her up, but not quite in agreement. I guess she wormed my intentions out of him. Haymitch is nowhere in sight. In my sight anyway. And it was then, when my thoughts had shifted to Haymitch, that Katniss saw me.

"You!" She shouts, meeting my eyes and literally shoving past Matrix to enter the room. Peeta follows hesitantly, avoiding meeting my eyes. He's got that guilty look about him.

Matrix, meanwhile, has also turned to look at me. His eyes widen instantly, and I swear if he hadn't been in the middle of complaining about Katniss' forced entry, he would have started gaping at me.

"Why?" Katniss demands, placing her hands on her hips and waiting for a response. She doesn't specify. There's no need to.

"Because I didn't want Rosabelle going and getting killed!" I shout, mostly only shouting it to try and startle her away from this topic. Matrix flinches, I can see, but I ignore it.

"Not that, and you know it!" she snaps. "Why were you planning this beforehand? Why would you DO that? How COULD you do that?"

"I could do that because I didn't want someone like Rosabelle to end up doing it!" I scream. "Or would you prefer I let her do this?" My voice is raising in octave with every word I take, and even I can hear the shrill anger and upset in my tone. "I've been training, I can do this! She hasn't! She'd die some slow painful death on every screen in Panem!"

Everyone's staring at me. Staring angrily, and unhappily, and sympathetically -in Peeta's case- and then there's Matrix, staring at me as if I'm a monkey. I suppose he didn't know I cared that much about Rosabelle. I can only take the stares so long, though, and finally I snap.

I push right past Katniss, who is still frozen in place, and then brush by Peeta, not as forcefully as Katniss. Matrix is on the other side of the room, so I don't have to force my way past him. I clear the doorway and then the hallway in only seconds, and then I'm in the dining room, in which I'd sat before with Matrix, Pasquale and Theodore.

Theodore is sitting at the table alone, and there's food set there, but all untouched. Rather he has a book, one I can't make out the title of, but I think it might be a school history book. He looks up when I enter, but at seeing the flush of anger in my face, just swallows whatever question had been forming on his lips.

Pasquale enters from the other end of the room, and I can see I've been right to outdo my previous outfit for the meal. She has on a long, red dress, clearly trying to imitate Katniss' fire approach from last year's Games. There's a slit up one leg, showing a little more skin than might be prudent for an occasion like dinner, but maybe she doesn't think it's so. She's clearly taken a shower as well, and her dark blonde hair is floating around her shoulders as if it weighs nothing at all. I can't help feeling she looks rather like fire, and I look rather like water.

She sneers at me, and then takes the chair beside Theodore. He looks up hopefully, and she glares at him once again, making the slight smile playing on his lips slide right off. I feel a little bad for him- the boy simply adores Pasquale. Pasquale on the other hand, can't seem to stand the boy. Haymitch enters from the same door I've just come from, moving me out of his way by my shoulders.

I watch, startled by his gruff entrance and removal of myself, as he crosses the room and takes the chair farthest from Pasquale and Theodore, on the opposite side of the table.

"Haymitch?" I say.

"Not now, sweetheart," he growls.

I blink a few times, confused by his sudden bad mood, but let it lie. Katniss is coming back from my room now anyway, sure to start complaining again. Instead of staying and waiting to be snapped at, I exit through the opposite door of the room, and then take a sharp left. If I can catch them in the dining room, I can slip back into my own room easily enough. And although I'm most likely missing any opportunity for coaching I might get, I find I don't care all that much.

The door I've just left closes quietly behind me, and I look to the left. I open that door and slide inside carefully, but it's dark, and I can't see a thing. By feeling the area around me, I gather this seems to be a closet with official uniforms of some sort on it, more likely than not the train attendants' uniforms. The other door is on the other side of the room, and I cross cautiously, before my hand finds the knob.

Once back in the hallway with Matrix's and my room in it, I watch carefully to see Peeta retreat into the dining room, and I assume Katniss has already entered. I tiptoe across the hallway, which isn't a difficult feat, because I haven't even put shoes on yet. My hand is literally millimeters away from the door when I hear it. Matrix must still be inside, because there's sobbing coming from the other side of the door.

It's coming from a male voice, deep enough to be Matrix's, and it almost sounds like he's pleading for something, but the words are garbled, as if he can't speak right. Terror has frozen up my throat, and I don't think I could speak if I'd tried. I withdraw my now shaking hand, intertwining it with the other, and take a few deliberate, careful steps backwards.

What stops me is not the wall, not even my tripping my own feet. I back up into a human body. I whirl around and Haymitch is there, looking down at me as if he's been waiting for me.

He grins a little at the expression on my face. "Sweetheart, I've been on and off this train for twenty five years. You can't slip away and not expect me to know where you're going."

"I just didn't want to-" I start.

"Didn't want to get yelled at by Katniss, I know. I'm going to be training you and Matrix together, anyway." At the mention of Matrix's name, my eyes flick back to the door, and I swallow nervously. "You did want that, didn't you?" he asks, confused by my hesitation.

"No! Oh, I mean, yes! Yes, I want to have you as my mentor! But what I'm worried about is Matrix..." I stumble over my words without even trying to stop the fear from entering my voice. Matrix's unintelligible garbles have set my nerves on edge.

"What's wrong?" Haymitch demands, catching the undertone to my voice. "Is it Matrix? What did he do?"

"No, it's not what he did, it's..." I trail off. How do I explain this?

Haymitch pushes past me and goes right up to the door, opening it roughly. It slams back against the inside of our room, and I can see Matrix sitting on the bed, examining a light fixture he's taken from the bedside table. He looks up at Haymitch's entry, and just raises an eyebrow.

"Sorry," Haymitch mutters gruffly, and closes the door again. "Rina, what-?"

"He wasn't like that a few seconds ago!" I gasp. "I swear he wasn't! He was crying, and begging, but I couldn't make out what he was saying, and-"

"Don't think about it anymore," Haymitch says, pushing a stray hair out of my eyes. "If you hear it again, or something else you don't know what to do about, just tell me, okay?"

I nod hesitantly. Those sobs... those were not normal for anyone, even Matrix. Even Matrix who's just been entered in the Hunger Games. Those didn't even belong to him- they almost sounded like another person entirely. Like one who didn't sob hopelessly one moment, and examine a lamp the next.

**A/N:** Thank you so much for reading :D I'll try and have more of it up if I get some more reviews. At the moment it's a little... slow, as far as fans go. You guys are all behind my other followers, because I have all 93k+ words of it up there already. I appreciate the patience though, I'm trying to build a following on FFN, because I find that the critiques on here can be more helpful. If you see any spelling mistakes or something phrased a little off, please tell me, I'd be more than happy to fix it! Practice makes perfect, and all that!


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N:** Ahaha... oops. It's sort of been a long while since I updated on here, hasn't it? Well, here's the next three sections so I hope this makes up for it...

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><p>Dinner is hardly what I had previously expected.<p>

I change out of the dress in the bathroom, into a pair of comfortable-looking sweats, a T-shirt bearing the Hunger Games logo, and I tie my hair up in a ponytail high on my head. Mrs. Everdeen's braids are still there, but concealed in the rest of the hair occupying the hairtie.

Haymitch lets Matrix and I eat in our room, since Katniss is still absolutely furious with me. He joins us, after having brought all the food we would eat in. All of it looks amazing, really it does, but I hardly plan to touch any of it.

"Is there any that's not quite so... unhealthy?" I ask hesitantly.

"What?" Matrix laughs through a mouthful of what looks like lamb stew. "Are you crazy? This might be the last time we eat. As in ever, kid. Just eat, already."

I turn my eyes from Haymitch to Matrix, and just glare at him, until he looks back down to his stew with another chuckle.

"Just eat," Haymitch agrees. "This might be the last chance to nourish yourself for the Games you'll get. And you're not used to not eating like Matrix is."

Matrix just nods agreement, his mouth full to bursting point.

"But-" I start to complain.

"But nothing, sweetheart," Haymitch barks "I said eat, now eat. I'm your mentor, you listen to me. Remember? You can eat as healthy as you like once we get to the Capitol."

I glance down at the food laid out on the bed before me, and make up my mind right then. It all looks too good to resist. The first thing I pile onto my plate is some noodles with a white sauce, small spices scattered over the top, and chicken also dipped in the white sauce on the side. Next I look to what seems to be a soup of some sort, a bright red in color, that smells like tomatoes. There are a few finger sandwhiches next to the bowl, and I seize a few and place them next to the tiny bowl of soup on my plate.

"Speaking of which," Matrix says finally, wiping his mouth off on his sleeve -which had previously been a pristine white- "When we do get there. Any advice?"

I'm too preoccupied with balancing my plate on my lap and grabbing a fork from next to Matrix's leg, so I don't agree with him aloud. That's what I want to know first. Haymitch doesn't seem to notice, though. He's also inhaling the Capitol food. I think no matter how many times Gale's mother cooks for him, the Capitol food is still the best.

"You're going to be put right into the custody of your stylists," he says between a mouthful of some kind of steak with a dark mahogany colored sauce on it. "And they're going to try and make you look as presentable as possible, as quickly as possible. So just let them do their thing."

"As long as they don't touch my hair," Matrix mutters, but I don't think Haymitch hears.

"You saw what they did with Katniss and Peeta last year?" He inquires unecessarily. We both nod. "Well you just sit tight and don't start hating the stylists, and you should look even better. Now this year, you two will be with Cinna and Portia, Katniss and Peeta's old stylists. It was decided earlier that the older couples would get the older stylists. So Pasquale and Theodore are stuck with whatever newbies they drag in for this year."

I nod. This makes sense. Naturally the older tributes from each District have a better chance, so they get the better stylists, therefore heightening their better chances. And if we really have Cinna and Portia, whatever we're in is going to be brilliant. All of Katniss' dresses last year were absolutely gorgeous.

Matrix says, "Fair enough," before digging back in to his plate.

My own plate is growing cold, and I dive in.

The rest of dinner passes by in a blur of idle chat, guesses for our best strategy, and wonderings about the kind of handcuffs we'll be in. Naturally nothing like this has been released to the public, so nobody has a clue. Matrix is of the opinion they'll be in the usual design, but impossible to break through, which he seems to have experience doing from the grin on his face. Haymitch says that's not likely, that they'll be some high-tech design with alerts for when you try to take them off or something of the like. Meanwhile I'm just thinking they'll be a mix of the two.

Either way, I'm at a huge disadvantage. My best weapon, from my practice sessions with Haymitch, is the double swords. And I can hardly weild a sword in a hand that's stuck to Matrix's, and will be pulled in whichever direction he moves his arm. I'll have to work with one sword instead.

To practice, Haymitch uses the lamp cord -which he's ripped off the lamp Matrix had been examining earlier- and ties our wrists together. It's an easy enough decision as for which hand will be tied to which. Matrix is left-handed. We tie the cord around my left wrist, and his right. Then he demands we go through a variety of obstacles he's devised using just this room's contents, in a way I never would have imagined furniture being used.

We're to climb over Matrix's bed, squeeze behind the bedside table, go under my bed, -which has been lifted a few inches higher- jump an overturned chair, and avoid Haymitch the entire time as he throws various trinkets littering the shelves at us.

To say the least, we're not at all successful on our first try. I end up overdoing the climb over the bed, and I tumble backwards head over heels, taking Matrix with me. We fail miserably trying to get behind the bedside table, and Haymitch hits me in the back of the head with a glass animal. Once we try to get under my bed, Matrix gives up and begins throwing the trinkets back at Haymitch until I'm able to restrain him. Haymitch makes us pick up all the things now littering the floor, and give them back to him, and then we reset ourselves.

I count down with Matrix quietly, and then we both jump up onto the bed, and push ourselves over the other side. I hit the ground hard, my palms taking most of the hit, and then we both press our backs against my bed to stop Haymitch's missiles from hitting us again. Matrix slides over to the bedside table first, still low on the ground, and I follow carefully. A tiny jade elephant lands on the floor beside my right hand, and I withdraw it quickly.

Matrix manages to squeeze himself behind the bedside table somehow, and I'm drawn along with him. He then slips underneath my bed, and I catch up to him there, having more practice on the ground. Katniss didn't just teach me about plants in the forest.

The last thing is the chair. Matrix scrambles to his feet and offers me his hand, giving me that this-is-stupid-but-I'm-quite-enjoying-it look, and I grin in return, nodding. He's right. This is stupid, and quite fun, really, but it is also absolutely neccessary, which I don't mention to him. We count to three again and both jump at once, trying to clear the chair, and then be done with this.

The tip of my foot catches on the top of the chair, my toe the one thing keeping me from completely clearing the obstacle. It must be a bigger catch than I can feel, though, because the rest of me is pulled downward, away from the trajectory I should have been going in.

Matrix continues to soar past me, and the cord pulls taut on my wrist as I fall lower and lower, as if in slow motion. One hand flys out to catch myself, and the other tugs back towards my body desperately, but the cord attaching his wrist to mine is too tight.

My face slams the ground, and suddenly it's as if no time at all has been spent falling, although it just seemed like an eternity. I catch my tongue between my teeth when my chin slams the ground, and I can taste the blood instantly. Matrix crashes to the ground beside me, pulled down by my wrist.

The tears have already sprung to my eyes by then, and I scramble into a seated position, pushing the wire off my wrist frantically. Matrix sees my distress when he's regained common sense from the fall, and he helps take the coil off my skin before sitting up and looking at me worriedly.

Matrix asks, "What happened, are you alright?"

"Sweetheart, you bit your tongue. You're fine," Haymitch says, but even in my panicked state I can hear the undertone in his voice. He's a little nervous. A little guilty, even.

I probe my tongue with my finger, before swallowing a mouthful of blood. The metallic tang sticks in my mouth even after it's gone, because more blood is gushing out of the muscle.

"That doesn't look good," Matrix informs me.

"No, really. I hadn't noticed," I snap, my voice slightly naselly from the effort of moving my tongue as little as possible. "I'll be fine. My toe caught on the chair, is all."

"You should get some ice on that," Haymitch starts to say.

"So you're telling me when I do this-" Matrix says.

"What...?" I begin to mutter.

He darts in to my face and presses his lips to mine, and in my startled state, he easily pushes his tongue into my mouth. He swirls it around my own tongue, and then sucks suddenly, pulling at the tender flesh that is my tongue.

"It doesn't hurt?" he finishes.

I gasp in pain, pulling my mouth away from his, and accidentally knock his chin in the process.

"That's what I thought." Matrix says matter-of-factly.

Haymitch and I are both too stunned to say a word. My thoughts are racing by in a blur. Did Matrix just _kiss_ me? Did Matrix just kiss_ me_? And why? Other than the obvious gauging of the pain my tongue was really in, and inaccurately so, either way.

"Why don't you go get some ice on that?" he suggests calmly.

Haymitch escorted me out of the room and led me through the closets to get to the kitchens on the train. Neither one of us really wanted to have to explain to Katniss what had happened, and she was probably still angry with me. He would have gone to get the ice on his own, I expect, but wasn't sure what Matrix would have done alone with me.

And it's not that I don't trust Matrix. I do. Well, I have to. But the kiss out of nowhere like that... it unnerved me. I'm not going to bother to pretend it didn't. Then there was the crying before Haymitch opened the door... something just wasn't right there.

Some Capitol chef in the kitchens told us we'd be better off going to the medical car, and Haymitch snapped at him for a good five minutes. To his credit, the man remained fairly calm throughout the episode, and Haymitch gave up eventually, and taking my arm, dragged me through the rest of the kitchen, away from our own car. When we were through the door I started to ask Haymitch where the medical car was, anyway, but he clamped a hand over my mouth and made a shushing geture. I frowned, and he just shook his head, but I followed silently as he lead me through this car.

I realize with a start that it looks eerily like our own car, except instead of gray being a common color, a creamy brown is. Where we have deep gray carpeting in the dining room, in which this car is empty, this one has almost the same cream color as the carpet in Matrix's and my room. Haymitch looks down the hallway quickly to check there are no people present, before darting through the dining room and out the door to the next car. It's another kitchen car, and people are bustling around cooking various things, but nobody pays us any attention.

The next car leads me to think this is a pattern. It's another set of rooms just like ours. A hallway going off to the left, with two doors, and one on the opposite wall which will lead to the closets. A dining room across from where this door is. And this car's carpet is in an animal fur pattern. We slip through this car as easily, because it seems whoever might be inside this car are in their rooms.

A kitchen. An identical car with different carpet. Another kitchen. And then the identical car again. The pattern continues like this for another 16 cars, including the first identical car we'd entered. I think in the car after the one with animal-print carpeting, a girl might have seen me. We'd been passing through the dining room, and I looked back when the feeling of someone's eyes on my neck made my hair raise. One of the doors, the equivalent of Pasquale and Theodore's room back in our own compartment, was open just a crack. Through it and in the brief time I was looking, I could see a very feminine face, with gold eyeliner. Curiously though, the eye was a gray color, and the hair was brown.

It was that encounter that lead me to believe we were literally moving up through the other Districts' tributes' cars on the train. I calculated that the one with the girl had to have been District 9, and the one we were now sneaking through was District 5. Every one of them seemed to be occupied so far, which made me think it was later at night than I'd originally thought. The train had to go to every District to collect the tributes, so we were now at least past District 5. This train must have been travelling even faster than I'd originally imagined, and I guess we would be arriving in the Capitol by morning.

Haymitch slides open the door to District 4's car, and I slide through it after him. My tongue is still bleeding, but I've long since given up being nervous about it. However if I bleed to death from biting my tongue, rather than in the arena, I'll be quite furious.

We're about to open the door to the District 3 car, when Haymitch freezes, his head cocked back towards the two rooms, listening. I turn around, and freeze with him. I hear the flashing of cameras, and see there is no light leaking out from underneath the two doors in this car like the others. Which can only mean one thing. We're in District Four, and the tributes are boarding the train right now.

Haymitch seizes me by the back of my shirt and drags me into the closet just behind us, closing the door silently after himself. I would protest violently, in any other circumstance, but I've guessed by now that we're not supposed to be in other Districts' cars. If we're found here by the mentors or escort, who knows what will happen?

My breathing is still silent, but with each passing moment, and each footfall outside this closet, my heartrate is speeding up, bringing my breathing with it. Haymitch is either unusually calm, or unusually frightened. Either way, I should be upset by this. If he's calm, it means he's not as worried as he should be, and more likely than not drunker than I'd originally imagined him to be. If he's frightened, then I should be upset, because my fears about our not supposing to be here are correct.

After another few minutes, the sound of footsteps disappears. I expect they're in their rooms now, planning and plotting already. District 4 is traditionally a Career district, anyway, so it's not that unlikely. I wrench my shirt out of Haymitch's grip, and take a step towards the door. He grabs my shoulder and pulls me back, with a little more force than necessary, and points at his ear. Listen.

I do, and hear a heart-stopping sound. There are still footsteps. Those of only one person, one rather light person at that, but footsteps nonetheless. I try to slow my breathing as much as possible, and hope they're not curious like me, that they want to examine the closet. Haymitch slips away from behind me, and I can hear the sound of a door opening and closing, signifying his move to the other closet. I would follow him, but I'm quite literally frozen in place by fear.

The door opens a crack, and I flinch away from both the light, and the attack -verbal or physical- that will almost certainly follow.

"Hello," is the very unexpected greeting.

I look up, startled out of my stupor.

Before me stands a girl, maybe only a year older than me, if that, with hazel-green eyes, and brown hair. She's smiling hugely, and her otherwise-normal brown hair is tied back along her head in cornrows, a word I only know because one of the Peacekeepers in District Twelve has them. She's tan, but not as dark as I would expect, with her hair done back like so.

"Who are you?" asks the girl curiously, but there's no vindiction there. Only curiosity.

"I'm... Marina," I say haltingly, eyeing her carefully.

"Well hello Marina!" She exclaims happily. "Ooh, this is a nice surprise. I thought Avoxes couldn't talk?"

"Uh..." I say stupidly. First I don't know what an Avox is. Second, I'm really a tribute. Question is, who is she, anyway?

"I'm a tribute from District 4. But you knew that, didn't you? You _are_ an Avox, aren't you? You still have your tongue."

Disgusting. These "Avoxes" have their tongues removed? "I'm not an Avox," I say finally. "I'm... I'm a tribute from Twelve."

"Oh!" She cries happily. "This is a surprise, then! What are you doing in our car then, if I might be so bold as to ask?"

"I was just going to the medical car..." I start to explain.

There's a little shriek, and the girl collapses to the ground. I peer around the edge of the closet, startled, when I see Haymitch, holding a needle he's clearly just inserted into the girl's arm.

"Just a little tranquilizer," he says matter-of-factly. "She'll wake up in about an hour with a headache, but be fine otherwise."

I gape at him, until he frowns and grabs my arm again. We pass through the next five cars without issue, because the identical cars are all empty after District 4's, and the kitchens pay us no mind, as usual.

After getting through the kitchen to go with District 1's car, we enter a car that's quite different from the other 24. There are bandages hanging all over various coatracks, and bottles and jars full of curious Capitol medicines, rather unlike Mrs. Everdeen's remedies. A man sits hunched at a computer screen, looking at what seems to be an advertisement for the Hunger Games this year. All I catch is a glimpse of a Bull's Eye shape, except in varying colors of green and blue in the center, before he catches sight of us, and turns off the computer hastily.

"Well what do you want?" he snaps.

"She bit her tongue bad," Haymitch says gruffly. "District Twelve."

"And you just came through every other car to get here?" he asks incredulously, standing and coming over to examine my mouth. "Why didn't you just go along outside on the balconies? They do all connect, you know. It would have been a lot easier. Had them installed last year!"

Haymitch slaps his forehead in disgust, and I laugh aloud, almost biting the doctor's hand.

We go back to our car as the doctor suggested, outside the cars, along the balconies. He was right, too, it's much easier. All the windows are tinted, so none of the tributes, escorts, or mentors can see us walking right beside their cars. Although when I try to place my hand on the glass, an electric charge zaps my hand, and I pull it back reflexively.

In no time at all we've reached the car, and are relieved to find Katniss has gone to bed already. Peeta and Matrix are both inside the dining room now, I can see from the outside. Peeta looks up questioningly when we enter through a door in the side of the dining room, but doesn't comment, and Matrix is so involved in whatever is on the television, he doesn't even look up. It looks as though they're watching recaps of the Reapings. Ours is on now. Matrix laughs as he corrects Effie Trinket, and I can see myself as I shake his hand. Why am I blushing?

I take the seat next to Matrix, and poke him sharply in the arm to alert him of my presence. He looks over and nods at me, before looking back to the screen. Apparently they're revealing the teams now. Next is a picture of Pasquale and Theodore beside each other at the train station, without Matrix or myself. I try to remember what exactly happened there, but the next picture reminds me.

It's from the same perspective as Pasquale and Theodore's picture, but very different in theory. Matrix is carrying me princess-style across the platform, and I can spy Effie Trinket and Haymitch following behind, shooing off more daring photographers. I grimace a little. This is surely going to be portrayed as a sign of weakness- before I realize it won't be at all. I had buried my face in Matrix's shirt. Nobody saw me crying!

The rest of the reapings pass quickly enough, and all the rest of the station pictures are all according to the book. No carry-outs like Matrix and me. Quite a few people stand out in my mind. Surprisingly, a girl from 9 steps forward, with a sort of fiery determination in her eyes. I recognize her as the girl who was watching me pass through her car just a few minutes ago.

There's a pair from 7 who volunteer and stand together instantly. They've both got on a pair of green-tinted sunglasses, making me think they'd had it planned for a while previously. Both are blond, and both look neither happy nor upset, rather, more grim than anything.

I recognize the girl from District Four, the one with the cornrows. I realize then they aren't giving us the names. The only two tributes we heard names for were our own Districts' tributes. Boy #1 is as tan as the girl from the train, with blue eyes, and he seems almost happy to have been picked. Nobody volunteers when they ask for them, because of the glare he gives the other boys. Boy #2 is rather forgettable. He reminds me of Finnick Odair, with his tan skin, red hair and green eyes, but other than that, nothing sticks out about him. I can't even remember the other girl tribute's appearance. I think she had red hair. Or maybe it was brown?

All four tributes from District 3 have nearly identical black hair and tilted, almond-shaped eyes, but none of them seem to be familiar with each other. One girl has her hair cropped to her ears, and wears an angry yet sarcastic smile as she takes the stage. I can imagine her having joked about being picked earlier that same day, and now it was happening, she was inwardly cursing herself.

District 2's tributes are all natural Careers. One boy has a cropped haircut that to me, makes it look like his head is flat. The girl with him has incredibly short brown hair in a pixie cut, as if to match him. The other boy makes me instantly think of a rainbow, the way his hair is dyed, and pulled up above his head in a mohawk. The colors range from red to purple and everything between, in just the two inches of hair above his scalp. The second girl has her hair in high ponytails, that remind me of antennae on an ant. The fact that her hips are enormous don't help much.

District one is the last to go, as usual. First is a platinum blonde girl, and she's gorgeous, like Glimmer, from last year. Maybe a year older than me, if that. The first boy has dirty-blond hair, and he volunteers from the eighteens pen, stepping forward nobly. I can see the expression in his eyes though- determination. The other two are fairly generic Career tributes, nothing special.

And then the television shuts off. Nobody presses anything- it just turns off.

"They don't show the names of the other tributes because they don't want you having that advantage," Haymitch says with a sigh. "And they were about to put up small backgrounds on each. They specifically edit out parts of the reapings that are shown to each set of tributes so you can't get a leg up on anyone else." He rises, and takes a few steps towards his own room, before turning back and looking at us once more. "You should really get some sleep, you two."

The memory of Matrix's kiss comes back full force then, and I look over at him, a little afraid. Matrix seems unconcerned, almost as if he's forgotten already. Will our sleeping in the same room create anything again? Or perhaps the kiss was just a one time thing. Either way, my stomach has butterflies all of a sudden.

He offers a hand, and I take it to pull myself out of the rather well-padded chair. I release his hand as we start for the room, though, and I go first. As soon as I'm inside the room I cross to the bureau again, in search of a nightgown. I'm still in the sweat pants and shirt of before, but why not change? I've only got so long to live, after all.

I find a lacy, satiny, baby blue slip that's even shorter than the aqua dress, but take it over the hotpants and even shorter dresses that are my other options. After changing quickly in the bathroom, I remerge to find Matrix has changed in my absence, switching the dress shirt and formal pants of before for a pair of cotton-looking pajama pants. They're black, and... that's all I can see before hs dives underneath the covers on his bed. I'd only gotten a look at his pants because he had had the covers draped around himself before, and it almost looked like he'd been crying. I removed the thought from my mind. Matrix wasn't crying again. I'd only been gone for two minutes.

I climb into my own bed, although my dress catches on the bedframe when I go to lay down, and it tugs the material a bit higher on my legs than I'd normally prefer. I blush furiously and pull the covers up to untangle the lace from the fork that appears to be the cause of the problem, sticking out from between my mattress and the bedframe.

After righting the problem, and throwing the fork at the door, which feels extremely satisfying, I turn over in my bed, to face the wall opposite Matrix. Not before I catch his gray eyes staring at me, though. The image tugs at my consciousness, and my mind drifts from worrying about Katniss' anger to worrying about Rosabelle. She has the same face as Matrix, exactly. Down to the last detail. Except for ther eyelashes. Those clearly mark her a girl. She must be feeling so awful tonight. With both her brother and a friend going? And she'd been waiting for it to happen, as well. The thought tugs at my heartstrings, and a painful pang of homesickness washes over me. I miss Mrs. Everdeen and Prim. I miss my mother. And most of all I miss not having to worry about all these different and very new problems. I shiver a little, but not from being cold.

I turn over again in my bed, and peer over at Matrix's. He hasn't moved a muscle, and those gray eyes meet mine almost instantly. I blink away the tears that I now realize had begun to form at the corners of my eyes. When I look back at his eyes, I see the same glimmer there. His own eyes are glistening with the excess water that signify tears. He blinks once, and an unspoken understanding passes between us.

I push the covers off my body, and swing my legs over the side of the bed. He sits up and shifts over on his bed. I stand and cross the three or so feet between the two beds, and slide in between the covers on his bed. I don't lay down facing him though. If he wanted me to see him crying, I would have just lay where I'd been before and watched him. Rather I face my own bed, and close my eyes.

I open them again, startled, as I feel him put an arm around my stomach. It's not an intimate gesture though, I realize, as his hand starts searching around for my hand. He just wants comfort. And since I do too, I slide my hand into his and grasp it tightly. He pulls his body closer to mine behind me, until we're literally back to front. I try and fall asleep again, and it's easier this time to ignore my worries and regrets, but something else is off.

It's warmer in this bed than it was in mine. That's probably because Matrix moved over to let me lay where he was before. It's some other sort of warmth though. His legs are no warmer than usual, because the cotton pants would reflect the extra heat he's generating because of me and the covers. But his chest... My eyes shoot open again as what I realize just then sinks in. The excess heat pouring off Matrix's chest- it's probably because he doesn't have a shirt on.

Oh won't Effie be just thrilled waking us up tomorrow, to find us in the same bed, and Matrix without a shirt on, me in a nightgown like this.

Unfortunately, I didn't have the pleasure of being woken up by Effie Trinket and her opinons of Matrix and my sharing of a bed in such garments. However, I did get Haymitch's opinions on the matter.

I was woken up by the angry roar I could now distinguish as Haymitch's, as it had been issued several times before in my presence, while he was drunk.

Haymitch shouted, "WHAT ARE YOU DOING?" and that was all it took to make Matrix scramble backwards and promptly fall off the other edge of the bed.

I shoot upwards, looking around wildly, and see the source of the commotion, Haymitch rushing over towards where Matrix lays fallen on the floor. I sit there, stunned, for all of a second, before Haymitch is atop Matrix, pinning him to the floor.

"WHAT DID YOU DO LAST NIGHT?" he bellows.

"Wh-what?" Matrix gasps. "Nothing! Nothing happened, I swear!"

"Haymitch!" I scream, as my senses finally return to me. The fact that Haymitch is clearly furious and on top of Matrix has only just connected with coherent thought. "Haymitch, stop!" I throw myself to the edge of the bed and tug at Haymitch's collar, but to no avail. It's when I lean a little too far forward, I smell the liqour on his breath, and know Haymitch is drunk.

"EXPLAIN YOURSELVES, THE BOTH OF YOU!" Haymitch demands.

"Nothing happened!" Matrix repeats desperately.

I can see why he's so desperate now. In Haymitch's white knuckles, is a knife. The same one I tried to confiscate from him back in District Twelve.

"Haymitch no!" I shriek as his hand shoots towards Matrix's throat.

Matrix is ready for it though, suddenly. Two seconds ago, he was frantic. Now? He looks almost collected. His hand shoots up to meet Haymitch's, and before I can even see what's happened, Haymitch is on the ground, and Matrix is pushing himself up, completely calm.

"I suggest you change and then we get out of here," he says, brushing what looks like spit off one of his nearly-perfect abs. "He won't be out forever."

I'm completely dumbstruck. I think Matrix can tell, because he grabs my waist and hauls me up, onto his shoulder. I'm again startled when he sets me down on the counter in the bathroom, and goes back out into the room contaning a passed-out Haymitch. He returns about a minute later, with a dress in his arms. He leaves it on the counter beside me, and turns the shower on, before heading back over to the door.

"Well go on then, I'll meet you outside," he says with a smile, before closing the door behind himself.

I sit there for a few moments, stunned, my mouth opening and closing rapidly, and I'm fairly certain I look like a fish right about now.

Finally I hop off the counter and decide to just go along with it. Why not? I strip down and get in the shower, contemplating Matrix's actions and behavior the whole time. He's quite literally all over the place. Cocky at the reaping, caring after the family visits, upset just before dinner, and completely forward last night after training. And acting as if none of the above has a thing to do with anything.

What is wrong with him? In complete seriousness- there is something not right with that boy. The only coherent thought I can form is that it's never been directed at me. At Haymitch, yes. Upset at being chosen for the Games, yes. At... -well my tongue hardly counts, but I suppose that was me- I suppose my tongue. But what triggered it? And how did it work? What parts of his mind were affected by it?

I press the disturbing thoughts out of my mind as I dress myself in Matrix's dress, a fitted white thing with black roses and green leaves. I wait for him outside the room, as he suggested, but I notice Haymitch has been removed from the vicinity. Matrix arrives a few seconds later, -changed into a shirt and tie, rather like the one he had on last night- and we walk in silence to the dining room.

Katniss glances up when we enter, and gives me a glare, before looking back down at whatever she was examining previously. Pasquale gives me the now-custom sneer, and Theodore smiles nervously. I think Peeta is pretending to be absorbed in the paper before Katniss, because he has his arm around her shoulders. A false pretense for affection. And I don't blame him. He clearly loves Katniss, and she doesn't return the feeling. I can only imagine how that must feel.

Haymitch is nowhere in sight, and neither is Effie. I assume she's taken him for medical treatment after whatever it was that Matrix did to him. I take the chair across from Pasquale, and Matrix sits next to me, across from Theodore. Haymitch would have the seat across from Katniss, but he's missing.

"We'll be in the Capitol within the next half an hour," Katniss tells me, without looking up. "So you should do whatever it is you need to before we get there."

"And we'll need to have the stylists register your District tokens..." Peeta chimes in. "So don't forget about those..."

Pasquale interrupts him. "I don't have a district token," she spits. "The community home doesn't let us keep anything."

Theodore just sits there. I think he's keeping the small earring in his left lobe as his token, though. I can see from here it's a tiny image of a kind of family, presumably his own. I wouldn't want to go into the arena without such a thing, considering I had one.

"I hadn't given it any thought..." I mutter to myself.

"I'm using Rosabelle's bracelet," Matrix says, leaning back in the chair and draping his arm over mine. "You might as well too, since you don't seem to have anything else left."

He was right, but it irked me that he assumed such without even asking me first. "Fine, I guess I will," I mutter coldly, and turn away from him.

"Have you worked out strategies with Haymitch yet?" Peeta asks, trying to break the silence. There's a glint of concern in his eyes, though. He knows what it's like to have Haymitch as a mentor.

Matrix shrugs unconcernedly. "No, we were going to do that after the Opening Ceremonies. Haymitch says we should wait to see what impression we make before diving in head first with one theme."

We were? Well that's news to me. Maybe he's just trying to throw Peeta off, and hide the fact that we have absolutely no plans at all.

Katniss just nods, as if this makes sense. I can see from her expression though, she isn't even paying attention anymore. Her eyes are skimming over line after line of that paper, as if her life depended on it.

"The new rules this year are more specific here..." she mutters, deep in thought. "Your district gets the normal winnings if one of you wins, one and a half times the winnings if you both win without the handcuffs, although how they expect you to get them off I don't know, and if both of you win still cuffed, you get double the winnings."

Not her life depended on it, then. Just ours.

"How do they expect us to win while we're cuffed together?" Pasquale complains.

"I don't know, but I'm sure you'll figure it out," Peeta says kindly.

"No, they won't. But more importantly, the fact that there are winnings for tributes without the cuffs means there's a way to get them off," Matrix murmurs in my ear.

It tickles, and I can tell I'm blushing at his proximity. Pasquale stares at us, and Theodore looks down ashamedly. Neither of them have heard Matrix's idea though, they're just apalled by his closeness to me.

The light from the windows behind the other four disappears suddenly, and I can tell we're in the tunnel through the mountains leading up to the Capitol. Pasquale jumps, and turns to look out the window with alarm. I can't help but grin at her reaction. I rise and cross to the window, and look out it. The tinting on the windows has been removed altogether now, and I can see the panels of cement holding the tunnel up from collapse pass by in a blur.

"Fascinating," I whisper, as I watch the lighting inside the tunnel constantly flicker as we pass under light after light, and they illuminate the space between panels.

"Isn't it?" Matrix agrees behind me.

I turn around and glare at him. "Stop agreeing with me on everything," I snap.

"Fine," he laughs, raising his hands defensively.

"I'm going to my room," Pasquale announces weakly behind us. "I think I'm going to be _sick_." She exits the dining room swiftly, making gagging noises, whether from Matrix and I or the tunnel, I can't fathom. Theodore follows after her like a lost puppy, and Katniss and Peeta leave through the other door. They're probably remembering their own trip to the Capitol, a year ago.

I look back out the window and find myself temporarily blinded by the sudden burst of light assailing my eyes. They adjust quickly enough, but I know Matrix's adjust faster, because he gasps a split second before the same sound is pulled from my throat.

The Capitol is absolutely breathtaking. I've always seen it on film for the Hunger Games, ever since I can remember, and once my father went there to do business and took photos for my mother, and I stole them to fantasize about it, but in person it is... brilliant.

That's the only word that can describe it. Literally. Unless I'm lacking in proper English words, and there is some word that means so-gorgeous-there-are-no-other-words-to-describe-it. The buildings are enormous, probably at least a hundred stories high, and each of them is in a different color metal, and then another colored glass. The windows flicker with television screens and people's faces stare out at the train as it arrives, pointing and calling.

When I turn my attention downward, I see people on the streets as well, now. The streets themselves are a clean, smooth-paved wonder of their own, all glittering and sparkling in the same sunlight that's glancing off the tops of buildings and getting in my eyes. So very unlike our own dirt roads, and even like the partially-paved Main Street, with its patchy disrepair. The people are gawking at the train and pointing and calling out to each other, but that's not what catches my attention first.

Each person is so different from any other I've ever seen, except on television. Some have skin colors in bizarre shades, some green and some pink, and every color in between. The clothing they wear is ridiculously luxurious, and I can see from here each and every article of clothing is properly constructed and made of a fine material- so unlike the clothes we have in District Twelve. Their faces are pulled taut on some, and unnaturally round on others, and every shape and form in between you can imagine.

Some of them are waving at us, others are calling out, little do they know we can't hear a word they're saying. With the Capitol accent, I probably wouldn't be able to understand them anyway. Once we're farther into the Capitol, the streets beside the train are gated off, and screaming people wave excitedly, brandishing signs with the Hunger Games logo on them. I wave back, remembering something Haymitch had told me last night.

"Suck up to them," he said, tearing a large hunk of chicken off of a leg he held, and chewing it while talking. "The audience will like you even more if you appear to like them. The audience liking you means the sponsors like you, and you get more nice things in the middle of hell."

I put on a false smile, although to anyone else, it will look genuine. I've had practice in this area, at least. The fans are waving and pointing at our windows now, at Matrix and I, and I smile for real, just a little, underneath the fake smile. Perhaps I really will have a chance in these Games.

It takes another half an hour to get us from the train into the Training Center and to our stylists. Matrix and I hold hands so we don't lose each other in the crowd of fans outside the building, and partially because the both of us are terrified about what will happen once we're with our stylists.

Our fears are not exactly unjustified, either. The prep teams are very serious about the task at hand, and force us to separate because of our genders. Unfortunately, that means I'm in a room with Pasquale when they start stripping the hair from my legs and arms. She asks for a different room when they get to the more... personal parts of our bodies, for which I'm grateful.

My own prep team hasn't tried inviting me into their conversations yet, but I can tell they're discussing the reapings, and who stood out in their minds. They seem to like the District One and Two pairs, because they look so gorgeous already. After this remark I'm inwardly fuming, and as they strip away my hair, I focus instead on observing them.

Octavia, a plump lady with sage-green skin is my favorite so far. She's not exactly taking part in the other two's discussion about how the boy from District Two got his hair to stay all those colors. Rather, she keeps trying to change the topic to the latest fashions, perhaps because she senses my feelings about the subject. She goes about the removal of my hair less vigorously than the other two, trying to tell me when she's about to rip a portion, rather than just doing it. Yes, definitely my favorite.

The one I least like has to be Venia. She has a rather disturbing gold tattoo above her eyebrows, or rather where her eyebrows should have been. I think they're there, but I can't see properly with all the moving around she's doing, and her aquamarine-blue hair falling in her face constantly. She's extremely thin, of which I'm jealous, because my own body is muscular, not thin. Making me look attractive will be a feat I hope Cinna can achieve.

The third one is Flavius. I don't mind him as much as I dislike Venia, although my dislike of her is mostly jealousy. Flavius has flaming orange hair, in tight curls cascading around his face, and has on a deep purple lipstick. It's only this feature that makes me notice the other two aren't wearing any lipstick, or if they are, it matches their skin tone well enough. He's male, but oddly I don't feel self-conscious about his presence, and my nakedness. And from the conversations he's having with the other two members of my prep team, I gather he plays on the same team as them. Apparently all three find Caesar Flickerman "charming, but a little old for their tastes," but all three agree that Finnick Odair is another story. I effectively tune out this portion of their conversation as well.

By the time they've finished with removing my hair, I've learned three things. One, they absolutely adore me because of how in-shape I am, and how little I complain. Two, Cinna doesn't want anything about me changed except the "obvious issues," of which I've guessed are my body hair, and the uni-brow they seem to think I had. And three, apparently Matrix and I "make the cutest couple television has ever seen," in their opinions, at which I blush furiously.

Before they file out of the room I thank them quietly, at which they all hug me -even though I'm still undressed- and bid me good luck for the Opening Ceremonies tonight. I start to reach for the robe I've had on and off inconsistently for the past hour, but decide against it. I think I'll have to take it off again anyway once Cinna comes to see me.

My suspicions are confirmed in five minutes. Cinna enters not long after the prep team has gone. I have to admit, he's not unattractive by any means. He's neither surgically altered nor over made up as far as I can tell, with only a little gold eyeliner around his hazel eyes, to bring out the gold flecks. He doesn't speak as he circles around me, eyeing each part of my body, and it's all I can do not to smack him and pull on my robe. I can tell he means well, though, and I think Katniss would have told me if he had been intrusive to her.

"I'd like to talk to you, if that's alright?" he asks, in that surprisingly soft voice. Even after seeing him on television last year, I'm not exactly prepared for the kind note in his voice, and how quietly he speaks.

I nod, and grab the robe from the hook behind me, tugging it on gratefully. He exits through a door to the left I hadn't seen before, and gestures I enter, holding the door for me. I nod a silent thanks, before preceding him into a rather normal-if-rich-looking room.

The only contents of the room are two small sofas facing a short coffee table, and I can see all three are bolted if not connected to the floor. A brief thought of why they would possibly need to be attached to the floor crosses my mind, but when I see the wall behind them, I understand why. It's completely glass. A one-way mirror, I presume, but I don't want to take any chances, so I sit in the sofa facing away from the window.

Cinna takes the couch opposite mine, and crosses his arms, examining me again. This time though, his focus is on my face and hair. I shift uncomfortably under his gaze, and look down instead at the table between us. I trace the outlines of the center connecting to the frame with my eyes, until the sensation of being watched fades.

Then I dare to look up, and see he's been waiting for me to do so.

"Marina, right? I'm Cinna," he says unnecessarily, extending a hand.

I shake it after a moment's hesitation. He has a firm grip, but not so firm you would be put on guard because of it. It's a warm, friendly kind of firm, one I haven't felt except for when I shook hands with Matrix on the reaping day.

"So our theme this year...?" I ask hesitantly.

"Oh we're just waiting for Matrix and Portia to discuss that," he says, smiling reassuringly. "And now I've seen you, I know we picked the right one. It should be marvelous."


	7. Chapter 7

I just nod, not quite sure what else to say on the matter.

Matrix saves me from having to start another conversation, or be drawn into one. He enters from a door on the opposite side of the room, followed by a darker-complexioned woman with a mass of brown curls piled atop her head. I assume she must be Portia, Peeta's former stylist. She gives me a reassuring smile before taking a seat beside Cinna, and Matrix sits beside me.

My hand finds his instinctively, and I clutch at it out of anxiety. He squeezes mine reassuringly, with a little more pressure than necessary. I'm glad I'm not the only nervous one.

"So our theme for you two this year," Cinna starts, but I can see his eyes have locked on Matrix, and he's examining him. Probably guessing how the male outfit will look on Matrix's tall, firm body. "Will be much more... simple than Katniss and Peeta's."

"Simple?" I ask, before I can stop myself. Even I can hear the disappointment in my voice. I was so hoping they would make another set of fire-themed outfits for us... but I suppose I was wrong.

"No less work went into yours than it did into theirs last year," Portia assures us. "It's just a different sort of beauty."

"Last year, you both know we used fire as a theme," Cinna starts, standing and pacing back and forth behind the sofa. "This year we had to design outfits that weren't the same as last year's, but just as eye-catching. It was a difficult task, I can tell you, but you wouldn't believe so with the way the outfits turned out."

He turns to face us then, and my eyes meet his. There's a glimmer of excitement there, now.

"You're going to make even more of a splash than Katniss and Peeta."

We're then bustled back into our own individual rooms, and I find the prep team waiting there already. Where before there was an empty counter and a full-length mirror, now the mirror is covered, and the white counter is covered in countless colors of lipstick and eyeshadow, mascaras, eyeliners, and several products I don't even know what to call. I'm placed in a rather comfortable chair, and told to sit still.

I suppose I fall asleep while they're applying makeup to my face, because I wake up what must be a little while later, and see the prep team is gone. Whether for a short period of time or permanently, I couldn't tell you if I'd wanted to.

The cover on the mirror is gone, but so is my robe, I find with slight dismay. Either way, it's the makeup on my face that matters right now, and I'm a little curious as to what it looks like. I reposition myself in the chair before standing, and crossing over to the mirror. I've almost reached it when the door behind me opens, and Cinna reenters.

"You don't want to spoil the surprise now, do you?" he teases, entering with a large garment bag in hand, and pulling the cover from behind the mirror back onto the front. "So Katniss tells me you've been training with her?" He asks as Flavius, who has come in after him, bids me close my eyes.

"Yeah," I mutter, as Flavius applies some kind of lipstick to my lips. "For a few months, now,"

There's silence for a few moments, and then they're standing me up, and I have to extend my legs for some sort of stockings, that only go up to my knees. Then Flavius pulls my arms up, and I feel a dress sliding over my head, onto my arms, and settling around my waist. The fabric rustles as they adjust it here and there, and then I hear a pair of footsteps leaving, and Flavius' voice muttering something about boots.

"Why did you volunteer?" Cinna asks quietly. "I know it wouldn't have been Katniss asking you to."

I hesitate. Why should I tell him that information? He has no right to know. And at the same time... I wish someone other than Peeta could know. I haven't even told Matrix. Perhaps I shouldn't. As far as he knows, I volunteered out of affection for Rosabelle. Which I did, after all. It was just part of the reason, though.

"It wasn't... Katniss who asked me to volunteer," I whisper. "Haymitch did."

There's no more time to elaborate though, because Flavius returns, laughing about something one of Matrix's stylists said. He shares the joke with Cinna, and I don't understand it at all, but Cinna emits a small chuckle before Flavius is at my feet, placing them in the boots gently.

"Flavius, can you go get Matrix and Portia?" Cinna asks quietly.

I hear his footsteps departing again, and then we're alone for the second time.

"Why would Haymitch do that? He seems to be quite attached to you," Cinna muses.

"He does?" I ask, taken off guard by the statement.

Our conversation is cut short once again as I hear shuffling footsteps approaching the room. That will be Matrix being guided in by his own prep team, I assume. Octavia and Venia join us, I can tell by their chattering, and then everyone is hushed by Portia.

"You can open your eyes now," Cinna says, in a very different tone of voice than the one he used to inquire about my volunteering.

I obey, allowing my eyes to flit open carefully.

There are two people looking at me through the glass window before me. I'm about to ask why, when my mind connects to the most logical theory. The mirror goes through the wall, as a one-way mirror, and someone forgot to install it correctly. I guess I'm looking at Pasquale and Theodore, then, but I can tell these aren't the two fellow District Twelve tributes. The girl has black hair, unlike Pasquale.

The boy is more of a man, by the highlighting on his face, and the way he has his hair slicked up, poofing in a way reminiscent of Matrix's usual greasy hairstyle. His face though, is dusted in black all the way around his neck, but not on his features. The black fades away to show his cheeks and all between them, as well as most of his forehead and chin.

It's as if he's made of coal, with the black covering him entirely except for his face. And his face... the makeup instantly makes me think of embers left over after a fire. It seems as though his face is illuminated by an unseen force within him. The same goes for his chest, which has been covered by a similarly glowing shirt, and black jacket similar to the one Matrix wears around town. Other than that, every part of his outfit is pitch-black.

The girl is dressed similarly, and has the same ember-highlighting on her face, making it glow beautifully in the light of the prep room she's in. Her hair is done up in a sort of twist, with strands of straight hair cascading down in a way that reminds me of dust sinking after it's disrupted from it's resting place on a surface, like the coal dust does in District 12. Unlike the boy, though, her dress has long sleeves, and the entire thing is fitted to her body.

There's a huge hole right on her stomach, extending from the bottom of her breast to just above where a black belt rests low on her waist. Her stomach has been colored in the same glowing colors as the boy's shirt, and it glitters in the light, unlike his, which shines.

She's shorter than the boy, you can tell, but not by much, with the heels on the boots she has on. They hang loose and baggy around her ankles, but grow gradually tighter around her calves as they proceed up her legs.

Underneath the stark-black leather boots are a pair of black socks, which extend just a little higher. She seems to have leggings on underneath those, until I realize the dress is extrememly short, barely covering vital parts, and her legs have been dusted in the black substance, slightly less so than her hands, to show that it is in fact skin beneath them.

It's not until I reach out to touch the mirror when I realize the boy is Matrix, and the girl is me. My gray eyes glitter with curiosity and wonder as I touch first the mirror's surface, then my own face. I am beautiful- for the second time in my life, without lying, I can say those words. I am beautiful.

"Nice legs," I hear Matrix murmur. I ignore him.

And Matrix is stunning. He's gazing at me in the mirror too, now. My heart beats faster in my chest, recognizing the fact. There's a painful sort of ache coming, and I recognize it as longing. He looks even more handsome than last night on the train, and then he was shirtless. The sight of him now makes me long for another kiss- like the one last night on the train, but without my tongue screaming in pain when his connected with it. I almost do it, too, jump on him and just start kissing him passionately, when I remember the company around us.

Cinna and Portia are hugging, congratulating each other on the success, and I'm surprised I hadn't even noticed the prep teams' ecstatic reactions to our appearances until now. They're all six of them hugging and shouting and jumping up and down, and I can't help but laugh at their antics. But they have the right of it- we look absolutely amazing.

"That's it!" Matrix suddenly says, turning to face me, beaming. "I'll call you Legs."

An out-of-the-blue statement, for sure, but... looking in the mirror again, I can understand it. With his words when he teamed up with me, _"Can you run, kid?"_ to now, with my costume clearly designed to show off my defined thighs. And it's _hardly_ an insult.

The first thought that comes to mind when I enter the stables is how badly it smells. Of course I've smelled worse, but the fact that the Capitol is so full of grandeour otherwise is startling to me. I could well forget I'm in the Capitol at all right now. Well... if it weren't for the other 47 tributes wandering around in-costume.

I clutch Matrix's hand tightly. I'm a little afraid of what would happen if I were to lose him in the mass of other tributes. That and the fact that I would probably fall over for nervousness if he didn't grip my hand as tightly as I did his. His nervousness doesn't show though, unlike mine. I keep reaching up to bat at the strands of hair coming out of the clip on my head, and Effie Trinket, who's currently following us around, keeps yanking my hand away and telling me to "cut it out."

"Where's Haymitch?" I wonder aloud, as we finally reach our chariot. It's a black thing, rather like we're decked out in, but like us, has spurts of red and orange glowing around on it. The horses are both spray-painted a reddish-orange color.

"Up you go, Legs," Matrix says, offering me a hand once we reach the chariot.

"He's signing up sponsors already," Effie says, as she also helps me up the tiny set of stairs to the chariot in my heeled boots. "And probably will be all night, after you two get back. Don't expect to see him until tomorrow."

"Well aren't you supposed to be there with him?" Matrix asks, pointedly refusing to accept Effie's help up the steps.

"Technically, yes." she says, after pursing her lips at his attitude. "But _technically_, he's not even allowed to be signing up sponsors yet. It's only because the parade is moving especially slowly this year."

And indeed it is. There are televisions all around the stables, showing the happenings live to us. District One's first chariot has only just left the stables- literally a few seconds ago. Mentors are allowed to sign up sponsors as soon as the Opening Ceremonies begin, but I think that rule was originally put in place for when the mentors were actually_ at_ the Opening Ceremonies, watching their tributes. Either way, we've probably another half an hour, at least, before we leave. We'll be the last to go out, as the older pair from the last District.

The couple from One looks absolutely breathtaking in matching white robes, their face and hair coated in a fine, glittering white powder. Two sets of wings appear to sprout from their shoulder blades, and if I didn't know better, I would say the feathers on them were made from real angels. You would never have been able to tell they'd once been on an animal. I now know their names, from the crowd's chanting. Gem and Pearl. Which is which, I couldn't tell you if I'd tried. Either way, that boy has a girl's name and clearly doesn't know it.

Matrix is probably thinking the same thing- I can tell from the grin covering his seemingly glowing features. He looks down at me at the same time I look up, and our eyes meet. All humor drains out of his. He sees the desperation in my own eyes. The pair from One is so beautiful.

"Don't worry, Legs," he says, patting my shoulder. "We'll be better. You know the audience picks a badass pair over a goody pair any year,"

I can't help but crack a smile, in my jittery state. He's right. Every year there are two sets up for favorite, the commentators describe the crowd's reaction in detail- and the darker looking one comes out on top. These are the Hunger Games, after all. The crowd doesn't want a pair of angels- they want murderers.

"Ooh, there you are!" A familiar voice exclaims.

I whirl around, almost losing my balance on the small platform, and I would have tumbled off of it if not for Matrix's steadying grip on my wrist. I see the girl from District Four, the one from the train, standing below me. She's hardly recognizable. Her cornrows have been replaced by zig-zagging ones that make the tails of the braids hang much higher around her face, and her face itself is covered in makeup that makes her appear to have scales. It makes her green eyes stand out like emeralds, for which I'm slightly jealous. And is that a pair of gills I see pencilled on her neck?

"It's Marina, right?" She asks cheerfully.

"Who's this?" Matrix asks cautiously, the smile on his face not betraying the carefully measured note in his tone.

"I'm Frog," she says, grinning widely, and extending a hand for him to shake. "Frog Truffle. And you are?"

"Matrix," he says, shaking her hand. "That's a erm... curious name you've got," he says, a grin playing at the corners of his mouth.

"No, Frog is a pretty common name," she says, her nose scrunching in distaste. "I'd have love to have been named Marina. Such a pretty name!"

"Uh... thanks..." I mutter, but trail off, not quite sure what else to say.

"Do you like my outfit?" She asks, beaming happily. This girl... doesn't seem to have a large attention span. "I'm supposed to be a mermaid!"

I look down at the full-length dress she has on. I can see now though, it's less of a dress than a skirt, and for a top she has only seashells covering her rather flat chest. The scale stencilling is mimicked on her arms and torso though, and I can't help but admire the handiwork. If I'd been from District Four, perhaps I would have a brilliant, water-themed outfit like Frog's. I don't like fire... and I would take blue over red any day, given the chance.

"It's lovely..." Matrix says, but his attention is elsewhere. I think he's gone back to watching the television. The second District Two pair is out of the stables, now, I believe.

"Ooh, I've got to go!" she exclaims, her own eyes alighting on the screen above us. "See you later!"

"Uh... yeah, see you..." I trail off. My nervousness has dissipated, though. Somehow this Frog girl has inspired a rather comical sense to this whole proceeding in my mind. When I see one of the tributes from Seven cross before the steps to our chariot, I can't help but laugh. She's wearing a rather frumpy dress made from fall leaves. I think she glares at me, but I'm already turned around and facing out the doors before I can tell for sure.

"Legs..." Matrix says, grabbing my arm and pulling a little in the direction he's currently looking. "Look,"

I follow his gaze, and look up to see the District Three tributes, the second pair by the looks of them, rolling out of the stables. They seem to have tried to mimic Katniss and Peeta's style last year- they're glowing. Not in the same manner, though. All I know about District 3 is that they make the electronics... so yes, the glowing, wired suits they're in make sense. Before I can make out which girl the one in the chariot is, either the sarcastic one or the other, the next chariot exits the gate.

It's Frog and her partner next, a tall boy about her own age of perhaps 17, with a voluminous mop of dirty-blonde hair. He's wearing a similar skirt to Frog's, but no one intends to make fun of him for it. It hangs low on his hips, and his abs are so clearly pronounced, I don't think a female in the whole city could look away if they tried. He might well be a second Finnick Odair, if he lives. I hear the crowd cheering their names. Apparently his is Sky.

The second pair from Four are less... orthodox, to say the least. In fact, I think everything about them is in the "least" category. This is the least amount of clothing I've seen on a tribute... ever. There's some kind of seaweed around the boy, who's clearly not very comfortable with it, and as for the girl, all I can see is a blinding amount of glitter. I assume they've glued it to her. Well, their styists must have run out of ideas. I silently thank Cinna and Portia for being the best stylists I could have possibly gotten.

We continue to watch the remainder of the tributes cross the streets, slowly, ever so slowly, but don't bother leaving our own chariot. We've nobody to talk to, anyway. Finally, it passes District Eleven's last pair, two dark-skinned kids in what appear to be woven sacks of grain. Pasquale and Theodore's chariot moves into position, and ours lines up after it. This is the first time I've seen the two in their costumes. Somehow their chariot had been lined up far away from our own.

Pasquale has her hair in a casual ponytail down one side of her neck, and a miner's glow-hat on above it. I can see she's been heavily made-up, but I have to admit it looks good. Her outfit consists of a pair of ridiculously short overalls in a dirty yellow color, purposely smudged with coal. Under that is a dark green flannel shirt, rolled up to her elbows. Her boots are a light tan color I think, but even with the coal smudges on them, I can tell they're brand-new.

Theodore is similarly dressed, except his pants go down to his ankles, and the overalls are half-undone. He holds a shovel in one hand, and his other is around Pasquale's waist. They're in position already, then. I'm proved right as their chariot lurches to a start, and they exit the stable door slowly. A few things are off about their outfits.

One, Pasquale would never go into the mine wearing that. The yellow would grow far too dirty, far too quickly, and the legs on that thing would offer no protection at all. Two, children don't go to work in the mines until they're 18. And by that point, no longer considered children. The look would have made more sense on our pair. Yet, I'm glad nobody else came to the same conclusion.

I entertwine my fingers in Matrix's hand as our chariot moves to take Pasquale and Theodores' place. All at once, my nerves return full-force, and I'm staggering under the pressure of what will soon be thousands upon thousands of eyes, all directed at me.

"What, what's wrong?" Matrix asks, looking down worriedly at me, as I slump against his arm.

"I'm so scared..." I murmur. "I'm going to faint and fall off, and then we'll be the laughingstock of Panem, and not have any sponsors."

"You won't fall off, Legs," he says, a gentle smile covering his glowing face. "If you do, I'll just do this."

He wraps his arms around me, holding me close, and I bury my face in his neck. The chariot jolts to a start though, and I realize the doors have just opened. It's too late -even though we break apart instantly- all of Panem has already seen our embrace. I'm grateful my face has been made up to look red. Otherwise I would be an even brighter shade than I appear to be now.

The first thing that registers in my mind is that everything is falling silent as I take Matrix's hand in my own, and try to regulate the temperature of my face. The crowds have stopped moving altogether, and are ceasing conversation as we pass them. My knees are shaking, but I gather they probably aren't looking at my legs. Everyone's attention seems to be on our faces, and determining whether or not we're really glowing. I was too, when I first saw us.

"Keep it up, whatever you're doing, Legs," Matrix says through his grin. "They're loving us."

"Are they?" I mutter through grittedly smiling teeth. "It doesn't exactly look like..."

The remainder of my words are drowned out. It doesn't even matter, though. Suddenly the crowd is on it's feet, and cheering deafeningly. My smile grows even larger, and Matrix squeezes my hand encouragingly. We're certainly the favorites, now.

Someone's looked up our names, and I hear a faint chant starting from my left, past Matrix. It gains more and more voices, until it takes up the whole area, and follows our exceedingly slow chariot as it makes it's way down the streets of the Capitol. I lose myself in the cheering and calling, blowing kisses and waving delicately. It seems as though it'll never end. And perhaps I don't want it to, either.

After what seems like hours, but in fact was probably only one hour, we reach President Snow's mansion, and the chariots pull to a halt, in a semicircle facing the crowds. The President begins his speech, and I tune out most of it. He's restating this year's theme, and going over the rules. This year there are a few more- the ones Katniss explained to us on the train. About the amount of winnings you recieve based on how you win. He also reiterates that only partners can win. So yes, Pasquale and Theodore have to die. Well, if I don't intend to.

I think somewhere around halfway through the speech, Matrix shifts positions beside me. It looks like -out of my perhipheral vision- he's looking down at me. His hand is suddenly out of my grip, and he moves his weight from one foot to the other, moving away from me. I stumble into him, startled by the loss of his stabilizing arm.

I sneak a glance up at him, and see his nostils flaring, and his eyes looking straight ahead, to where the crowds wait at Snow's gates. His hand is clenching and unclenching into a fist, and the coal dust is cracking away on the skin of his knuckles. Now that I can see them, when he closes his hand, I see how white they are. What's going on in his mind?

I struggle to keep the confusion and anger battling inside my chest off of my face for the remainder of the ceremony, before we are hovercrafted back to the Training Center. He can have a piece of my mind once we're there. As soon as my face is covered by the tinted windows of the craft, that being halfway up the stairs, the frown consumes my features. I take the seat closest to the door on the right side, and my frown deepens as I realize the hovercraft seating is in a circle. I'll more likely than not have to face Matrix throughout the duration of the ride.

I'm proved wrong, as he takes the closest seat on the left. As the others board the craft, I notice we're not in order by district anymore. Over on the opposite side is Gem and Pearl, the two whose names I can't put to one or the other, in their angel costumes. Beside them is one of the pairs from Two, consisting of Antennae and Rainbow, as I have dubbed them. And then beside me is the pair from Three with the glowing costumes- I see now it was in fact the girl with the sarcastic smile I'd watched be reaped. And then there's Matrix and me, sitting as far away as possible from each other.

There are a few moments of silence, which somebody would have otherwise used to introduce themselves. None of us are in much of a conversing mood, though. I glower over at Matrix a few times, but he's taken up a rather quiet conversation with Antennae. Rainbow is chatting with the girl from One, and the boy is talking with the boy from Three. And that leaves me with-

"I'm Blip," the sarcastic-smile girl says, extending a still-glowing hand. "You are?"

"Marina," I say, shaking hers. "But I go by Rina."

"And then there's me, who calls her Legs," Matrix grins.

I glower at him until his smile falters and he looks away. It takes even less time than usual... he's really trying to avoid contact with me, it seems.

"Right..." Blip says, trailing off into silence. "So your guys' costumes were great,"

"Yeah... we got Cinna and Portia," I inform her, scooting my body to turn further from Matrix. "You know, Katniss and Peeta's stylists?"

"They're brilliant," she says admiringly. "If only my stylists didn't love lightbulbs so much," she sighs, and takes a knife out of a pocket I hadn't seen before. My breath catches, but I see she's only intending to-

There's a sputtering noise as her knife connects with the arm of the suit, and then a spark of electricity connects with my arm, and I jump. Her suit shorts out almost instantly, plunging the previously-bright space into semi-darkness. The boy from her district's suit is still glowing faintly, though I can see the battery on his is wearing out.

Everyone turns to stare at Blip. Until now, she had been the primary source of light for all of us, and now all we can see is Gem and Pearl glowing faintly in the pulsing multicolored lights on the boy's suit. It's rather pretty, but I'd hardly say so in front of them.

Silence ensues, and then Blip bursts out laughing. I laugh with her, if only at the startled faces of the other tributes in the craft. And Matrix- he looks even more startled than Pearl or Gem or whatever the girl's name is, across the seat from me. Their expressions, simply put, are priceless. Well, before they wipe the surprise from their faces, and glare at us. And then the laughter dies away, wiltering in the suddenly steamy atmosphere. Thank God we've just arrived back at the Training Center.

Matrix exits first, almost as if he's in a hurry, and he's followed by the District One and Two pairs, and then the boy from Three. Blip slips out past me, and then I disembark the craft as well. They're all scattering in different directions, towards one of three elevators. Antennae, Rainbow, Gem, and Pearl all head towards the one on the far left, the boy from Three goes to the center one, and I can see Matrix making a beeline for the right elevator. Blip hasn't moved, though.

"Well they're lacking in sense of spontenaity," she snorts, putting a hand on her hip.

I grin, and nod. "Yeah... I think the only other person you're going to get along with here is Frog, then."

"A frog?" she asks, confused. "Oh yes, I forgot. Now the reapings consist of amphibians and humans."

"No," I laugh. "Frog is one of the District Four girls."

"Oh. Oh yeah, I've seen her," Blip says with a grin. "She's... curious."

"That's one word for it," I agree. The hovercraft has left, and now we're the only two left on the roof. It's a bit quiet for my tastes, so I tell Blip I'm off to my rooms, and she agrees, before we split up, her heading for the middle elevator, me for the right.

The elevator is glass, and it moves just as fast as the first one did, but there's no need, because my floor is only three down from where I currently am. Or so the Capitol attendant tells me as he presses the button for me. Having people do things for me is such a foreign concept, half of me wants me to elbow him aside and just press every button to show him I can do things myself. And then the other half notices how many buttons there are, and I decide against it.

When we reach the floor, I waste little effort examining my surroundings. The only things I notice before I'm barreling through the doors into what the Capitol attendant told me was my room is an ugly urn of flowers which I almost tip over, and that the carpets are so soft, they nearly make me trip.

I slam the doors open, guessing that Matrix will be inside, and I'm correct. And... he's shirtless again.

"You," I snap, ignoring his semi-lack of clothing. "What exactly is your problem?"

He says calmly, "My problem? I'm tired. Can I go to bed now?"

"No you can't go to bed now," I say, crossing my arms over my half-bare stomach. "I want to know what your problem is."

"I told you already," he sighs. "I'm tired. That's my problem."

"That is not what I meant and you know it!" I exclaim. "Why did you just suddenly start keeping away from me after the Ceremonies?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," he says, climbing onto one of the two beds.

"Why did you start avoiding me?" I demand. "After the Ceremonies, before the hovercraft. Right before they finished filming it."

"Maybe because the cameras stopped filming," he suggests, crawling beneath the covers. "Maybe I was acting."

"Why would you do that?" I cry. "You've been perfectly amiable until that point! What did I do wrong, hmm? Did I outshine you and your precious greasy head?"

"This is not _about_ me and my precious greasy head! This is about you!"

"What about me, then? What, are you... jealous of me now? Because this isn't going to work. We have to go into the arena together! My life is in your hands, yours is in mine! Why would you start something like this not even a week before we go into the arena?" I exclaim.

"Maybe it's because I don't care anymore! Maybe I want to die! Maybe I don't want to be your little murdering buddy, Legs!" He's out from under the covers now, standing, before he stalks over to where I stand and faces me. "Or maybe I just don't like being partners with you!"

"What?" I gasp, the previous words whipping around my head like a tornado wiped clear out of my mind at his last sentence.

"I can't stand being around you, do you know that?" he exclaims.

Before he can finish the sentence, my hand has moved out of instinct- withdrawn itself from my other arm, and propelled itself across his face. The slap reverberates loudly in the otherwise open room, and there's silence. He leans forward a little more, gingerly touching a finger to his face, before my own hand flies to my mouth in horror. Did I just slap him?

I don't even have time to apologize before he recoils. His hand flies outward, and the back of it strikes me across the left cheek. I tumble to the floor, my legs having given out beneath me, as I clutch the stinging patch of skin where his backhand connected with my face. My breath is coming in ragged gasps now, and the tears spill out of my eyes before I can even think to stop them. The pain in my cheek is all-consuming. I think it's beginning to throb.

The most I can do is look up and give him the meanest look I possibly can- which isn't saying much. What little anger I manage to have mustered by the time our eyes connect leaves when I see his expression. He's as horrified as I was when I realized I'd slapped him, if not more so. Only this is worse. This is so much worse. He is not only two years older than me, and trains daily, as far as I know, but he's male, and taller, giving him both a gravitational and upper-body strength advantage. And... all those advantages add up to one painful blow.

Suddenly his eyes go blank, and I blink, startled. He slumps to the ground from his half-bent position, and I scream and scramble backwards so he doesn't land on me. Effie Trinket is standing where Matrix had been before, with a half-empty needle of something in one hand. She's staring at Matrix as if she's never seen him before. Her eyes move upward and meet mine, and then she's scrambling over him and taking me in her arms, asking me if I'm alright.

Through a torrent of assurances to Effie that I'm okay, I watch several Capitol attendants load Matrix onto a stretcher, and take him out. And then of course Haymitch and Katniss have to make an entrance, and all goes to hell.

Effie tells me during dinner they're taking Matrix tonight for diagnosis. When I ask what it means, she changes the topic smoothly, asking me what exactly had happened that could have possibly lead to his blow. The question takes me so off-guard, I have to splutter for a moment before coherent thought comes.

Pasquale and Theodore are both staring at me. Haymitch is stabbing a sauce-covered sausage repeatedly with his fork. I think Katniss has finished eating, but she's on the other side of Effie, so I can't tell if she's listening. Peeta, on my other side, is just twirling spagetti on his fork. I'm appreciative of his appearance of lack of attention... but he's probably paying attention on the inside.

"I wanted to know why he had been being so distant, after the Ceremonies," I start, minding my words carefully. "And he said it was because he couldn't stand being around me."

"That's a lie!" Haymitch growls, dropping his fork suddenly, and meeting my eyes across the table. He looks away suddenly, as if only now realizing how inappropriate his comment was. I think I'm blushing.

"Well what happened next?" Effie prods, clearly trying to smooth over Haymitch's reference to Matrix's and my relationship. If one still existed.

"Well... I slapped him," I say honestly. "But I mean, it can't have hurt him much, because I'm not as strong as him, and I didn't even mean to do it..."

"And he hit you back?" Theodore pipes up.

As we all turn to look at him, astonished he's actually talking, he blushes furiously and looks back down at his plate, suddenly very interested in the ambrosia salad.

"Yes..." I say, looking down at my own plate. The memory of his face after he struck me returns full force... the guilt and shock that had been there.

"_Why_?" Pasquale demands sharply, snapping me out of my reverie. "Why bother hitting you back? Why wouldn't he just let you die in the arena or something?"

Harsh words. Terribly, terribly harsh words. But she's right, and the lack of conversation following it proves it's so. Matrix could have just said nothing until the arena, and then used me as a human shield, getting me off his back early on. Well... Pasquale only knows so because I'm almost certain she'll do the same thing to Theodore once she's under fire.

Dinner finishes in silence, and the Capitol attendants come in to take our dishes. They're all wearing white this time, which is unusual, but I don't comment. Haymitch takes one look at them, and looks as though he's about to be violently sick. He excuses himself and leaves, and Pasquale and Theodore exit after him. When it's just Katniss, Peeta, Effie and I, I decide it's about time for me to go as well. Just after I rise and push my chair in, Effie speaks up again.

"We'll have the results by tomorrow morning..." she says quietly. "And Matrix, if he's fit for the Games. You should get some rest, Marina."

I nod, and depart for my room. I do need rest, anyway. Tomorrow is the first day of training... with all the other tributes.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** Le gasp. What could be wrong with Matrix? Read on, dear readers!


	8. Chapter 8

The eggs on my plate are decidedly not as interesting as the conversation I can hear in the other room, between Effie and one of the Capitol doctors who escorted Matrix back earlier this morning. Although... it was more of them carrying him in on another stretcher, and leaving. He wasn't exactly conscious.

"...not a conscious thing," I can hear the doctor saying. "More of a reaction, or instinct... part of the effect..."

Effect of what? Their conversation has been absolutely mystifying to me throughout the duration. Then again, the fact that I miss just about every third word isn't helping any.

"But he can compete?" Effie asks. "...can't have a tribute who won't be in the Games... even bigger disgrace than we already are..."

I huff in anger. A bigger disgrace? Katniss and Peeta won last year. Besides, nobody except us eight even know what happened last night. And perhaps the Capitol doctors, but they aren't allowed to talk about it by law.

"He needs to stay out of..." the Capitol doctor says, but then their voices drop, as they walk towards the dining room.

Needs to stay out of what? I blink, and jerk out of the stupor I'd been in, trying to listen to their conversation, and focus back on my eggs. It can't look like I haven't even touched my plate yet. As a result, when they enter the dining room, I'm stuffing my face.

A bit of egg that didn't quite fit in my mouth falls off my lip as I look up, and Effie slaps her forehead in exasperation. The Capitol doctor just shakes his head, before leaving. Pasquale bursts out laughing, spraying me with orange juice, and I glare her down. Deciding she's not getting the message, I fake a sneeze, and she gets a faceful of egg.

"Girls!" Effie shrieks, hopping over a bit of egg on the floor in her insanely high heels, and nearly tripping over Theodore's chair. "Stop that! We're going to be the biggest laughingstock in Panem!"

"Nobody can_ see_ us, Effie," Pasquale complains. "Except you and your surgically altered eyeballs. And we don't care what you think." With that she leaves, and Theodore trails after her, as usual.

"What's the dignosee?" I ask, wiping my face clear of Pasquale's orange juice.

"It's diagnosis," she corrects me, flopping into the chair beside me with an exasperated sigh. "And apparently he can't go to training today, because he's still unconscious from the tests."

"The testing is that extensive?" I ask faintly. Images of needles and tubes sticking out of his arms and face assauge my senses, and I swallow nervously.

"No, but they couldn't get him to stay still long enough without putting him under. He should be out most of this morning and afternoon." Effie pokes at a piece of egg on the table with a fork, before dropping it with a metallic clatter. "I suppose you'll want to skip training too, then?" She snaps sarcastically.

"Can I?" I ask, my hopes rising. If I can stay here with Matrix all day, maybe I can catch him when he just wakes up, and apologize for last night. I wouldn't mind getting one from him, either. I saw that look on his face. He regretted it later.

"Oh fine, do what you like. It's not my problem if you don't have enough training," Effie snarls. "I have to go wake up Haymitch... just don't you two go wasting the whole day. I'll tell the trainers about Matrix's situation."

I nod, and depart from the dining room. Effie is muttering under her breath about ungratefulness, but I ignore her easily enough. It doesn't matter to me what she thinks of us anymore- I'm either going to be dead, or a celebrity within a week. I make my way into my room, and see Matrix on the bed.

His breathing is slow and steady, his eyes closed. He's more peaceful-looking now than I've ever seen him. I can see just from here, the other side of the room, that there's only one needle mark, on his right arm. There's a cotton bandage over it, and that's all I can see of his shoulder under the paper gown he has on. The thought that he's probably naked underneath hits me, and I blush, before remembering he's unconscious anyway.

I make my way across the room and sit down on the bed beside him. The grease in his hair is gone- I suppose they will have washed him for the examinations. He looks so very different from the boy last night, painted up in black and red, and glowing like fire with the subtlety Katniss and Peeta's looks lacked. Then the same boy without the shirt on, later that evening, who had struck me.

I find myself wondering if he really meant to do it or not. It seems more than once now he's had involuntary reactions... are they part of his condition? Matrix has always been so complex... maybe this is why. Maybe whatever he did back in District Twelve, before the Victory Tour, had something to do with whatever is wrong with him. Whatever it was that he did, it must have been serious. To be seen by Capitol doctors before he was even a tribute? It must have threatened either his or someone else's lives. And now...

My mind flashes back to the way he took to the stage at the Reaping, making it seem like a joke. The way he carried me from the Justice Building to the train. How serious he suddenly became when it was time to pick teams. His friskier attitude while we were training that night. The way he reacted when we saw ourselves and each other in the mirror, after the Opening Ceremonies preparation. Then how he tried to distance himself afterward. And finally... the sheer guilt covering his features after he struck me.

My heart drops a notch closer to my stomach, and I have to take a deep breath to avoid getting teary-eyed. What is_ wrong_ with him?

"Oh, Marina," Effie's voice says, from outside the door. "I forgot to tell you the diagnosis earlier. You probably heard it anyway, but," I look up from Matrix and peer through the semi-darkness at the door. I can see her shadow, and then Haymitch's as he passes. I most certainly did not hear the diagnosis. "He has Schizoaffective Disorder." I wait for Effie to explain further, but she just walks off, complaining about Haymitch's table manners. My eyes find their way back to Matrix, still looking peaceful, lying there quietly.

Schizoaffective Disorder. I know a disorder is a problem. What's Schizoaffective? I don't know the word, don't understand what it means. Affective might be taken as one part of it... meaning whatever "Schizo" means is affecting him. What would it be like, to be alive and not be in full control of your mental capacities? Like that doctor said to Effie- "Not a conscious thing... more of a reaction." I don't think I would ever be able to live my life by reaction. If I did, whenever someone made me angry I would get violent.

I blink. Is this what Matrix has to deal with every day? Has to struggle with his anger, with his emotions so he doesn't hurt the people around him? I can't even imagine how he has the control to do so.

My brain gets ahead of me, considering the situations I've put him into these last few days, and I have to convince myself to stop. I'll ask him when he wakes up. Without any further thought, I lay down on the bed beside him, intertwining my fingers in his, placing my head on the pillow beside him. When he wakes up, I'll feel it. The more rest I can get in the Capitol, the better. I would rather not be training today, anyway.

I think I see a shadow through the door, but I pass it off as my overactive imagination. It'll be either Haymitch or Effie checking up on us anyway. My eyes flutter closed before I can think more on the topic, and before long, I calm my mind into a sleeping state, and the peaceful blackness envelops me.

My first waking thought is one wondering where exactly I am. My quickly-receeding dream had placed me in the woods, training with Katniss, like normal. Except... I was laying on the forest floor. And some unseen person was stroking my hair, whispering apologies for I-don't-even-know-what in my ear. But from the lighting in this space, I'm inside, and it's midday or afternoon. And then I remember. I'm in the Capitol already... in my room, in Matrix's bed.

I shift my head, and it hits something soft above where I had been lying before. There's a shifting sound behind me, and I turn to look for the source. It's Matrix- withdrawing his hand as if he'd been touching my hair. Well, that explains the stroking sensation.

"Matrix?" I ask groggily.

"I'm so sorry," he says quickly, as though afraid I'll cut him off before he can say what he's clearly worrying about saying. "I didn't mean to- couldn't stop- you don't-"

"You're ill," I said, pushing myself up a little further on my elbows.

"What?" he asks, startled into silence.

"Effie told me, the doctors say you're ill," I repeat, rubbing at my left eye. It's a little puffier than usual, and the skin feels slightly tender. "Something about Schizo," I frown.

"Schizoaffective disorder," he agrees calmly, but I can see the color drain from his face. "That's what the Capitol doctors told me last year."

We sit in silence for a moment. I'm not sure what else there is to say. My eyes drift down to his chest, for no apparent reason, and I find he's changed into a pair of sturdy-looking blue canvas pants, and a short sleeved black shirt. He has a vest on as well, a navy blue leather, with the Hunger Games logo stamped into the breast.

"If I ever say I don't like being around you again, don't believe me," he splutters, before dropping his eyes to the bedcovers. I don't even have time to open my mouth in protest before he continues. "It just came out wrong last night, I swear. What I meant to say was..."

He pauses, thinking for a moment. I take his silence as a second to catch my breath, before he continues.

"What I meant to say was, I can't stand being around you because... there's something there that doesn't happen around other people. I just... get emotional faster, for better or worse."

I just nod. I think I can almost relate. How butterflies seem to accumilate in my stomach at the drop of a pin when I'm around him. How I seem to be blushing all the time as of late, when he looks at me. His affectionate but clearly slightly racy nickname for me, "Legs."

My mouth opens of its own accord, to tell him so, but before a sound can escape my lips, he presses his forefinger to my lips, and all thoughts flee my mind again.

I find his hands on my waist as he stares at me silently, and I just stare back with equal intensity. I recognize the heat that's always present hanging over my mind when he's around as lust- a longing to be kissing him. He's just so attractive to me... it's highly unusual. I can't say I know the feeling well, but I know it well enough to say I like it.

Well... I liked it until a rather ungodly screech sent us both flying up and away from each other.

Effie Trinket came launching across the room, curled pink wig and all, straight at the bed. I fell off the one side and Matrix off the other before she got there, but it was me she dove down on first. I think one of her heels broke, or else she would have gone for Matrix before myself.

"WHAT ARE YOU TWO DOING?" She exclaimed shrilly, dragging me up from the ground, and nearly throwing me behind herself, away from Matrix. I staggered backwards a few steps, in complete shock at her antics, but still too startled to be of any coherence yet.

And then Effie flew at Matrix.

If birds could be as tall as she was, and have pink wigs, I think I would have been witnessing a rather large, shrill bird attacking Matrix at that moment. I couldn't really tell the difference between the flaps of her suit jacket and wings at that moment, nor the bizarrely pointed shoes she had on and talons.

It was only Matrix's exclamation of pain that brought me back to myself, and then I blinked once, before throwing myself at her as well.

"Effie, get off!" I shouted in her ear, as I tugged her right arm further away from my partner. I flinched away as her manicured nails swept past my face once, but it was only in passing in an attempt to get at Matrix again. A desperate streak of inspiration burst through my mind, and I yelled, "It was me! I started it!"

Both combatants froze, and gave me looks of shock. Matrix's read, "What did you just say?" and Effie's was more along the lines of, "How indecent!"

"I-I did it first," I affirmed, taking Effie's hand slowly and removing it from Matrix's shoulder. "So you can stop attacking him now."

"Y-yeah," Matrix added shakily. "And it's the rules of the Games that you're supposed to leave us alone in our room." I was fairly certain he was bluffing there, but I let it go. If it got Effie away, it was fine with me. "We're _supposed_ to share one. Remember?"

"Effie, it's not him. It's me. I'm okay with this. You can go now," I said calmly, trying to take that crazed look out of her eyes. So far, it hadn't even decreased a little. "And you don't want to be arrested for harming the tributes, do you?" I asked.

This seems to do the trick- she blinks once, before shooting Matrix a dirty look, standing, brushing her skirt off, and starting unbalancedly towards the door. She leans over halfway there to retrieve her broken heel, and then slams the door closed as she exits.

We both wait, frozen for a few seconds, to see if she'll reenter after all. After a minute or so, I chuckle, half out of relief she's gone, and half because that really was entertaining. All the breath rushes out of me in laughter, and then Matrix is laughing with me. I turn to face him, and can see the stupid grin that's surely on my face mirrored on his, before he pulls me into his arms, and I bury my face in his neck.

"You missed a good time at training today," Pasquale comments, idly twirling her fork in the remnants of her dinner, an orange sauce that coats her plate thickly.

"Did we," I muse, as if uninterested. Inside, I'm upset we missed training. I could have gauged my competition. I doubt Pasquale will share anything though.

"Well you're going tomorrow, no matter what," Haymitch growls. "It's bad enough you've missed one day. Everyone will be scrambling over one another to find out what happened."

"Well is that a bad thing?" Matrix demands sharply. "We want attention, do we not? Who cares what it stems from. Attention is a good thing. Sponsors notice us."

"Oh please," Effie snaps. "You've no need of more attention. Everyone already wants to sponsor District Twelve because of Katniss and Peeta."

"Yes, but their sponsorships are going to Katniss and Peeta," Matrix mumbles.

"Yeah," I agree, putting more volume into my words. "Everyone is sponsoring Pasquale and Theodore, not us. If we can get attention, we're going to take it."

Pasquale glares at me from over the basket of bread between us, and I just stare back at her. My eyes are straining not to blink or look away, due to the color shirt she has on. Or... half of a shirt. I think it's some kind of brassiere. And it's a blinding shade of yellow. Nobody's called her out yet for wearing it, so she hasn't changed. I can see it's bothering Theodore, though. He keeps glancing over at her and blushing.

"At least we're not the ones going for the lower methods of attention-seeking," I mutter glancing down at her shirt, in a voice low enough so that only she can hear my remark.

Her face turns bright red, and I can see the muscles in her neck tighten. If not for the others at the table, she'd be strangling me right about now.

"So what did we miss?" Matrix asks casually, the sharpness in his tone suddenly gone. The change unnerves me, but I dispell the shiver creeping down my back.

"The trainer's name is Atala," Haymitch says, before Pasquale can interrupt. I don't know why, he's not a tribute so he wasn't there, but I suppose he would know, after coaching kids for twenty-five years. "You're not allowed to train with other tributes in a combat-like manner. There are assistants on hand to help you with that."

Matrix leans across the table to glare at him past me. "And?"

"And what? You train." Haymitch says matter-of-factly, downing the rest of the wine in his glass.

"Well what is there to train with?" I demand, also glaring at Haymitch now.

He doesn't answer, and then my eyes flit to Katniss and Peeta, across the table from him. Katniss just meets my eyes with a cold hard glance, saying, _I'm not ready to help you yet, betrayer_. Peeta just looks to Katniss, and when he sees she's gone back to eating, he looks back at me apologetically.

The silence drags on, and I look to Matrix with worry as I hear him snort angrily. His face is turning a rather angry shade of red.

"There are a bunch of different stations," Theodore pipes up, clearing his throat awkwardly. Pasquale's head whips around as if she's been called, but instead of an eager expression, I notice she's giving the boy a death-glare. "Snares and rope-tying, one for each of the different kinds of weapons, edible plants, archery's a big one..." he trails off as his eyes meet Pasquale's.

"Thanks," I say, genuinely appreciative of the boy's intentions. He'll surely hear about it from Pasquale later.

"Oh, look at the time," Peeta says, standing, and his chair making a loud scratching noise as it's pushed back. "You all really should be getting some sleep," he says, looking pointedly at Pasquale.

She snorts haughtily, before rising and storming off to her room. Theodore waits before rising and following her. My eyes flit to Peeta's, and then to Theodore's retreating back, before to Peeta again. I think he gets the message, because he calls Theodore, and catches up to him, talking about something on the roof. I catch the words garden and view, and assume Peeta's taking him away from Pasquale for a short while.

"Matrix," Haymitch barks. "I want to talk to you." Matrix stands, and I go to follow him, but Haymitch shoves me back into my chair by my shoulder. "Not you, sweetheart," he says.

"But-," I start to complain.

He cuts me off. "No, I need to talk to Matrix alone. Go do something useful," Haymitch finishes as he pushes Matrix into our room, and leaves me in the room with Katniss.

"I'll just go..." I say, sliding out of my chair and starting quickly for the elevator, but Katniss interrupts me.

"No you don't. I want to talk to you," Katniss says angrily.

I flinch, but turn around slowly and face her.

"Why did you volunteer?" she asks again.

There's a moment of silence, in which I contemplate the question. Why? So someone else wouldn't have to. So Delly wouldn't do it. She would never survive in the arena. Or so that someone I knew and cared about wouldn't. But really why...? Because I thought I could win, somewhere deep down? Perhaps.

"I don't know," I say, taking the end of my ponytail in my hand and twirling it around my forefinger. An idea pops into my head, and in the instant I have to think about it, I grasp it might be just desperate enough to get Katniss off my back. "Because I didn't want someone else to do it." I say honestly.

"What?" she asks, clearly taken aback. "What do you mean?" She demands.

"Well... I know quite a few people who care about Rosabelle," I say, making it up as I go along. "One of them is Prim. Would you rather... Prim volunteered?"

It's terrible of me to play on her weakness like this, and I know it. But at the same time... I don't think I can take much more of her complaining about my volunteering.

Her face pales, and she purses her lips together. "No, I suppose not," she says icily.

This time when I turn to go, she doesn't call me back. I just hope I can set this right before I die. But I was right- I didn't want Prim to volunteer for Rosabelle either. I'm sure she would have. I can't even try to imagine Prim in the arena in my place. No... I can. And that's what's terrible. I can envision her death, a thousand times over.

The images sink in my stomach like rocks. Cold, black, rocks.

A spoonful of some sort of whipped grain lands on my face, coating it in buttery, salty substance. I sigh and wipe it off with my napkin.

"Three points to Frog!" Micheal exclaims cheerfully.

Today is the second day of training- and our lunch break. Frog has introduced Matrix and I to her other District partners, Sky, Micheal and Kay. I recognized the latter pair upon introduction as the ones in the seaweed and glitter at the Opening Ceremonies.

Micheal seems much more confident now that he's not decked in plants. In fact, one could almost call him cocky, what with the grin all over his face. His forest-green blouse- short-sleeved- is unbuttoned slightly lower than appropriate, and the cream-colored vest he has on accents his green eyes, making them look emerald, rather than olive green they normally are.

I flick the grain back at its catapultress, but Frog ducks just in time. It lands on the Career table, behind the six of us, and we all giggle quietly.

"Nice shot, Rina," Kay chuckles.

Kay -being Micheal's partner- looks nothing like the rest of them. While all four of the District 4 tributes have rather deep tans, hers is accented by freckles. I can see they're natural though, not sun-made. Her flame-red hair is done back in a casual bun, that hangs loosely at the nape of her neck. A few bangs in the front escape from behind her ear every so often, like right now. She blows the out of her face, annoyed, before tucking them back behind her ear. The blue three-quarter sleeve blouse she has on really brings out her blue eyes, and the canvas pants she has on are too tight for a reason. I've gathered throughout the day that she's hoping for something to happen between Micheal and herself.

"Now tell us why you were missing yesterday?" Sky begs. His blue eyes catch mine, pleading for an answer, and I'm tempted to give one. However I'm also tempted to blush every time he so much as looks at me. Sky is by no means unattractive.

He's tanner than Micheal, but not quite as tan as Frog. Blonde hair cascades in waves around his face, always appearing tousled, as if he's just woken up. He also has his shirt unbuttoned, but it's far higher than Micheal's. Then again, it doesn't take that much skin on Sky to make it that attractive. His pants are loose and baggy, the first person I've seen here whose pants are. Everyone else seems to have decided leggings are "in" for the moment. I'm almost disappointed Sky isn't of the same mind.

"No," Matrix half-sighs, half-laughs. "Not yet."

"But you've been saying that all day," Kay whines, grabbing his hand and holding it to her chin, forcing him to look her in the eyes. She sticks her bottom lips out, and raises her voice a few octaves. "Pleeeeeease?" she begs.

"Yeah, I'm with Kay," Frog agrees quickly, her cornrows bobbing back and forth as she nods excitedly. "There can't be half as many bananas involved as everyone seems to think."

My eyes meet Matrix's, as I'm not quite sure how to respond to that. His are smiling, but when he responds, he's all seriousness. "Well I don't know about that," he says solemnly. "There were quite a few bananas."

Micheal snorts, and the milk he'd been trying to drink comes back out his nose. It spills back into his glass, and Kay shrieks, scooting her chair closer to Matrix's.

"She means sex," Sky translates bluntly.

My face instantly turns beet red, and I start stammering denials, when Matrix puts his arm around my shoulders. "Yeah, I know." he says casually.

"You ass!" I exclaim, shoving his arm off my shoulders. "We didn't- I mean there was no- I'm still a-,"

"I'm just messing with you," Matrix laughs, encircling me in his arms, and burying his face in my neck. "Chill, Legs."

_I will not chill,_ I think to myself, but everyone else is laughing, so I relax a little.

"So what about the rest of you?" Sky asks vaguely.

"Never," Frog sighs.

"Four times," Micheal announces proudly.

"Once," Kay says, and blushes.

"What?" I ask.

"How many times you've done it," Sky laughs.

"Oh," I blush. You'd think I was the most awkward kid in my school, the way I was compared to these five. "Never," I say quickly.

"Me too," Matrix adds. "I think that's one of those things you need to wait until you've found the right person for."

"I agree," Kay says quietly. It makes me wonder who she'd... with, but I wouldn't be the one to ask.

A whistle blows on the intercom, and I wince at the volume of it. It signifies lunch's end though, so I grab my tray, and head for the nearest garbage chute.

Matrix trails not far after me, his own tray in hand. I stop and deposit the tray in the chute, before turning to talk to him.

"What do you think?" I ask quietly.

"Of what?"

"Them." I say, nodding my head towards the District Four tributes, where Frog had just jumped atop one of the garbage chutes, and was straddling it like a horse.

"What about them?" he asks infuriatingly.

"As allies!" I snap, a little louder than I had meant to. I look around, but it seems everyone's more interested in watching Frog ride the garbage disposal machine.

"Sure," he says calmly. "They seem funny enough."

As he strides away, one thought snags in the raging whirlpool that is my head. He wanted them for their _humor_? I sigh exasperatedly before following him and the District Fours back to the training room.

I split from Matrix after he makes it clear he wants to try the knives station first. Katniss is always so good at archery, so I decide I'll give it a shot.

Almost at once it becomes clear I have no talent whatsoever with the skill, and I glance back at Matrix, and see he's had much greater luck with gutting a fake body. My face turns bright red, part anger, part embarrassment. I renotch the arrow that has fallen since I last looked at it, and aim for the target once again.

"So you and Matrix, huh?" Frog's voice asks from behind me, startling me into missing my target by a foot.

"I don't know what you mean," I say, reloading my bow and aiming a second time. I'm glad my arm blocks her from seeing my face. I think it's almost as red as the "bananas" comment at lunch.

"I think you do," she says gleefully, grabbing a black crossbow from the wall, and loading it. "And I think he does too."

"There is nothing going on between Matrix and I," I argued, releasing my arrow and watching it hit the rim of the target, before bouncing to the ground. "Except training. Lots of training."

"Oh, I'm sure. Training that involves _bananas_?" she suggests, and I don't like the tone of voice she says it in. "We all need _some_ way to keep the sponsors coming. I understand."

"No." I manage to get out. If my hands weren't on the bow, I think they'd have been on her neck a sentence ago.

"Something about bananas?" A familiar voice inquires behind me, and both Frog and I whip around to see the newcomer. Blip, the girl from District 3 steps over to the wall with the bows, and gives me an inquisitorial glance. "I thought they didn't have those for lunch."

"Not what she meant," I mumble, but look back to my target, and retrieve another arrow from the quiver on my back.

"No offense," Blip says, eyeing the arrows littering the ground before me. "You don't look like you're going to get any better any time soon. I'd move on, if I were you."

"And if I were the both of you," I say, through gritted teeth as I rip the quiver of arrows off my back, "I'd stop testing my patience."

I slam the quiver into Frog's arms, and say, "_You_, I have not had _bananas_ with anyone, nor will I until I'm married. And _you_," I add, depositing the bow in Blip's. I pause for a moment, before continuing. "You're probably right. I'm going to the sword station."

"Sounds fun!" Frog giggles, dropping the quiver, and I hear the clack of the bow as it drops to the ground as well. Two pairs of footsteps can be heard trailing after me, but I don't stop until I'm at the station, in front of the trainer.

It's a large, blue mat, a padded one, with at least four tributes trying to learn how to handle a blade, with the trainers both fighting and instructing them. There are three racks at the back of the mat, each with different types of swords. The first has thin, straight blades, like the ones that match the stereotype of "ninja." The second rack seems to be curved, generic swords, almost like cutlasses. The third has what I'm interested in. They're even thinner than the "ninja" swords. Just like the ones Haymitch practiced with me with.

He gives me one cursory glance, before pointing at the third rack. I nod gleefully, before ducking between a shaky boy from District 6 and his partner, and heading for the third rack.

As soon as I reach it, Frog reaches the one beside me, and Blip arrives at the first not long after. I hardly notice either of them though, because my mind is focusing on the blades before me. Each looks almost the same, but I can see what makes them different.

The one right beside my left hand has a notch in the blade, good for sawing, bad for fighting. Notches can be caught and hence disarm you. The one above it is the exact same blade without a notch. Below the first is completely serrated, but so finely, you'd be hard pressed to notice it at ten feet away. Beside that is a slightly more curved blade, also serrated. I catch onto the pattern then, and my eyes flit to the top row. Top row means smooth blade. Middle row means notched blade. Bottom row means serrated blade. Above the top row is one that has blades with curved tops, like hooks, but I've tried to use those before. I can't use them without catching them on my own clothes before as so much as coming near my opponent.

I want a smooth blade, even though serrated would be helpful. Combat first, survival second. If I can just get to the supplies fast enough-

I stop myself before I can complete the thought. Games later, training now. Looking at blades. Not planning a strategy.

My eyes roam the second-top level, searching for the blade that looks most like the ones Haymitch used with me. Not a single one catches my eye until- I see it. It's identical to Haymitch's blades, except the design on the hilt is slightly altered. Instead of jagged lines, almost like cracks, as on Haymitch's, this one has curves and swirls, etched in the same manner. There's a sapphire at the base of the hilt, which I only know because of a rocks and minerals unit I did in third grade. Sapphire is my favorite precious stone.

My hand snakes around the hilt, hefting it up, and I test out the weight and balance. It feels almost identical to the blades I'm used to, except I know this one is heavier at the base because of the stone. The entire thing is made of a glistening silver metal, one I'm tempted to call silver itself, but I'm not sure. It could just be steel- but if this is steel, it's the most polished steel I've ever seen.

When I rub my hand around the guard though, I stop, frozen. Is it broken? I turn the thing to face me, and see that the guard is only wrapped half way around the hilt. I blink, startled, then look to the other swords. I lift one halfway up out of its place, and observe the guard. It's also halfway there.

"Doubles," I mutter, highly impressed. The Capitol was letting us train with double swords?

"You're going to need another half," Blip points out.

I jump and turn to face her, but she's looking down at the swords now too. A thin, flat sword resides in its scabbard on her back, and I can see a diamond-patterned hilt at the top.

I look back down to the other blades, and my heart practically soars with happiness. I can have a serrated and a smooth. It's a double sword. I drop to crouch at eye-level with the bottom row, and scan these blades silently. It would make most sense to take the matching-jewelled blades, but I find my hand reaching for another, one that reminds me of the kitchen knives I threw with Katniss and Peeta.

Naturally, it's nowhere near the same size as a kitchen knife. But the hilt has a certain shape to it that reminds me of one, and the serrations are large, but not so large that you could identify them easily. I'm sure this one would last longer than the tiny-notched swords I see beside it, too.

Tipping it up to examine the hilt, I see this one has a ruby in the base. How ironic- ruby and sapphire. Fire and water. Almost like Katniss and I. And for a moment, I think about how we'll be compared when I win. Will I still be the water, and she the fire? Or will we already have reversed? My mind freezes. _"When I win,"_?

"Nice choice," A female trainer intones behind me. "I've seen too many today who just pick the matching pair instead of switching it up. You can really make yourself an advantage, with two different aspects like those."

"Thanks," I mutter.

"You want to train?" She asks, pulling a cutlass-like blade from a scabbard at her waist.

"Yeah," I grin. This is why I came over here, after all.

"You know, I think they're placing bets on you," Blip says casually, leaning against the half-wall I'm sitting on, sipping at a waterbottle.

I'd asked the trainer to bring it on, and she brought it a little harder than I'd expected. I was now nursing what would become a bruised stomach rather soon. The dull ache prevented me from thinking straight for a moment. "Who?" I ask, after swallowing the mouthful of water.

"The Gamemakers," she says, grinning.

My eyes fly up towards where the twenty or so men and women in rich purple robes congregated, taking notes on the tributes. I scanned the majority of them in a glance, before my eyes fell upon what Blip must mean. There were three of them in the corner, two of them pointing avidly at Blip and I, and the third over at some tribute in the distance.

"What makes you say that?" I demand.

"The third guy keeps gesturing to Matrix," she snorts. "All three keep coming back to you. They're betting on who kisses who first."

I choke on my water, and spit it out behind the wall I'm still perched on. "What?" I splutter.

It's not as though there are a shortage of kissing tribute pairs here. Actually, I think more than half of them are doing it. Katniss and Peeta's approach last year seems to have been inspirational. Although I've seen at least half of the pairs that do kiss yell at each other afterwards, for something unrelated. It's easy enough to pick out the people who can't stand their "boyfriend," or "girlfriend".

And this year, the audience is eating that up. I haven't seen the exact broadcasts, but from what I have seen, the fans like certain pairings, and don't like others, because of how well they "go" together. I have to admit, it sickens me. They don't base it on the person's personality. They don't base it on their life, their attitude, or even the act they put on for the short interviews yesterday at the training. Just on how they look together. Just one more reason the Capitol is called artificial in our District. Or maybe just Katniss' house.

"See, look," she says, gesturing up at the three Gamemakers in the corner. "That one's saying how he doesn't think Matrix will kiss you first, because you've got such a temper. The lady next to him just smacked him for that. And now she's saying she thinks you'll kiss Matrix first, because of the way you're looking at him."

"How are you getting all this?" I exclaim. "They've got to be fifty feet away!"

"I can read lips," She grins. "Helpful, huh?"

"I'll say..." I mutter, before looking back up to the Gamemakers.

"Oh, hey, there they go again with the money," Blip laughs.

"Money?" I ask stupidly. "I thought you were kidding when you said they were betting on us."

"No, I wasn't. And now they're betting on _when_ you two will kiss." Her eyes widen, and she blushes, looking away. "Uh... wow. Someone needs to put an R-rating on their mouths."

"What?" I ask, catching her eye.

"Well the girl says it's three kisses, then you're in love, for the cameras, at least. Second guy agrees. The third guy says you're gonna kiss once, then uh... _bananas_," she says, grinning sheepishly. I regret explaining what that term meant to the Fours now.

"We have kissed once!" I exclaim angrily. "We were on the train and I tripped and bit my tongue, and Matrix-"

"And I kissed you. It was a good one, too, don't you think?" His voice purrs from behind me, and I squeal as his arms slide around my waist.

I instantly pull out from between them, and jump off the wall, to the side Blip is standing on. "Sure, Matrix," I snap.

Blip mimics a cat's growl, and makes a claw in my direction. "Cool it there, Rina, you're about to start flaming."

"I am not," I growl, but even I can tell my face is bright red yet again.

"Aww, don't worry Legs, it's adorable," Matrix says, placing his elbows on the wall and leaning over it.

"The Gamemakers are getting excited," Blip whispers in my ear, and I swing at her face, before she ducks, laughing raucously.

"What-?" Matrix starts, laughing at the expression on Blip's face, but not getting the meaning. "Did I miss something?"

The bell goes off right as I respond, and it covers up the majority of the words I'm spitting at him. By the time it's over, he's laughing for real, at the expression on my face.

"Yes, you're missing something alright," I say, huffing once before preceding him to the door.

When I reach the elevator, I press the "Doors closed," button, but they're only halfway shut when Matrix reaches them. He slips inside after me, and only then do the crystal doors shut. I growl once, before turning towards the back door of the elevator, so I wouldn't have to look at him.

I don't want this. I don't want to have to deal with my -let's be honest- attraction to Matrix. And more importantly, I don't want to have to deal with it just before I go on live television for the entire nation for about a week straight, if not longer. I'm going to be handcuffed to this boy. I don't know what's worse- the fact that he's got a mental illness, or that I like him. Probably both combined.

"Legs," Matrix starts from behind me, placing a hand carefully on my shoulder. "Was it something I said? I was just kidding, you know-,"

"Yeah, I know," I sigh. "It's just a combination of factors, alright?"

He nods silently, before I continue.

"We need to confirm them as our allies tomorrow," I say. I'd forgotten to do that, in the rush of everything today. I definitely wanted the District Fours, and Blip. I hadn't met her partner, though. I'm sure she'd get him to come along, though.

"I think that would be a good time to tell them why we weren't there yesterday," Matrix muses. "Gain their trust, a bit?"

"Mmn," I agree.

The elevator stops then, at our floor. I step out, and Matrix follows. When I start heading for the bedroom though, he continues on to the dining room.

"Where are you going?" I wonder aloud.

"To dinner?" He laughs.

"You're not going to change?" I frown.

"Why?" He asks.

I shrug, as if to say, "your loss," before proceeding into the room. Not long after I've taken one step into the room, and undone my ponytail, I hear breathing, and I look up, shocked into silence.

My body relaxes as I realize it's Cinna, sitting on the end of my bed. He's observing a dress he holds in his arms, and I recognize it as one from the closet next to the bathroom.

"What are you-?" I begin to ask.

"Just checking for your size," Cinna says with a smile. "The dress last time was just a rough estimate. It fit just fine, but Venia lost the measurements," he sighs. "So if I could just get you to put this on, and I can measure you with it?"

"Sure," I say, and nod. As I pull my shirt and pants off, a new thought pops into my head. "Why do you need my measurements again?" I ask, slipping the dress, a fluttery, semi-transparent blue frock, over my head.

"For the pre-Games interview, of course," he smiles.

I raise my arms and allow him to observe the dress' fit on my body. At least this is better than standing there naked, letting him observe me. Not that I don't trust Cinna. His design for the Opening Ceremonies was amazing, and there's just something about him that calms me.

"Now, I also wanted to know... if perhaps you and Matrix had come to any sort of standing relationship?" he wonders.

The phrasing marks it as a question of our friendship... but the tone of voice marks it as a real relationship question.

"No," I say, blushing. "We're not... I mean, we're friends for now. Maybe that will change. But I suppose whatever Haymitch says, goes. I can pretend for the cameras either way."

A good, neutral answer. I'm pleased with myself.

Cinna leaves not long after, with no further comment. The gleam in his eyes, though, tells me he's caught on to something more in my words than "just friends." Dinner passes relatively calmly, since Effie isn't there, for some reason. Katniss keeps quizzing Pasquale and Theodore on weapons and attack stances or something similar, while Peeta keeps Haymitch in line.

Haymitch himself has asked if we've made any allies yet. We answer simply, "Maybe," because it's not a good idea to inform our enemies who are allies are. Pasquale's eyes bore into my own after the word, but when Katniss reprimands her for not answering the question, I grin.

Peeta says he wants to show Matrix and I the garden on the rooftop. I nod consent, and Matrix agrees to come along. There's nothing better to do, anyway. No lamp cords in the Capitol to tie our wrists together with.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** Aaaand, there you go! I hope this much makes up for that huge absent spot. But for now, this is all you're getting. I kinda stopped updating the actual story (yes, I have LOTS more written than just this much) but I'll be working on it again soon, so I remembered it was still on here, and I was like, huh, maybe I should catch this all up... so yeah. That'll be coming soon!


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N:** Another long one! Yay! (Even though I'm pretty sure there are like, 5 of you following this. *sigh* Eh, no matter. The story must go on!

* * *

><p>As soon as the doors to the elevator close behind the four of us, Theodore sighs with relief, and a smile makes an appearance on his features. It seems to me as though being away from Pasquale has caused the change, but also makes me wonder why he always trails after her, then. If a person's presence caused me that much upset, I wouldn't hang around them.<p>

Matrix seems to have noticed as well. "What was that about-?" he starts to ask.

"Pasquale doesn't like me," Theodore sighs, turning to the older boy. "But it's not just because I annoy her, like everyone seems to think. It's because my older cousin... uh, he attacked her. He had some mental illness- the Peacekeepers shot him right after."

The elevator takes a turn to the side, as if it's running to the left now, instead of up. I shrug the sensation off, placing it as a delusion, before the conversation continues. I'm at least glad to see Matrix's eyes note the possible change of direction.

"He attacked her?" Matrix asks darkly.

Theodore nods sadly. "I told her it didn't have anything to do with me, but she doesn't seem to be buying it. And I don't like it... I..."

"You like her," I say, filling it in for him. "I can see it in the way you look at her."

"Maybe," Theodore says evasively, but I think even Peeta, in the corner of the elevator, can see his blush.

The elevator stops then, though, and the younger boy steps out. Peeta follows, then Matrix extends his arm, offering me the first leave. I nod, but a grin plays at the corners of my mouth, and then step out.

The garden on the rooftop is beautiful- in a word. I don't think there are any others to describe it. And for being a rooftop in the Capitol, the most advanced place in the world, I had thought an environment like this would be impossible.

First and foremost comes the view of the sky. The Capitol is so bright, you'd think any view of the stars would be rendered impossible. You'd be proved wrong. I can see every star from here, including some I've never seen before. It seems as though they've developed some way to either fake the sky, or do something to the lights that made your eyes able to see both the sky and the artificial light at once, rather than one or the other. And colorful fireworks are going off in the sky around us, oddly enough, all shades of blue. The color itself doesn't register in my mind so much as the fact I've just witnessed a blue dragon race around the building, before imploding above an office to my right.

Trees and bushes surround us, in varying shades of green, yellow and orange, almost every single one with a different type of leaf. I recognize only one of each species I know, and then there are more I don't, that I assume just don't grow in District Twelve. I have to really search to find the actual roof, because the soil from around the bushes is spilling out into the walkway. After a few seconds' observation, I spot it, a pale green polished stone. I can't see it in even small patches in more than three places, which makes me wonder.

The flowers are growing past the bushes, as well as between them, in every shade from white to black, surely Capitol-engineered breeds. They poke up from the soil spilling out of the set paths, threatening to trip us or be uprooted by a passing footstep.

But most beautiful of all to me -which surprises me just a little- are the wind chimes hanging from the trees everywhere, tinkling delicately in the soft breeze. The pitches range from the highest-pitched child's laugh to the deepest ring you can imagine, and the ones in the middle of the two are the most beautiful of all.

Before my mind even registers the fact that there's a sign asking people to please not step on the bedding, I'm up on the soil, between clumps of flowers, and reaching for a wind chime. It's a large blue crescent moon, with a painted fairy sitting on it, blowing a handful of what looks like petals into the wind. The sound emitting from it is one of the higher-pitched middle tones, and the sweet pitch calls to me like honey does a bear.

My finger rises in my view, slower and slower, until it can't be more than an inch away from the tip of the moon, when suddenly a hand closes around my own, capturing my curious finger there.

My eyes fly up the arm and to the owner's face, and see it's Matrix- his eyes set in what looks like a mixture of fear and seriousness. He presses his right forefinger to his lips, and points over my shoulder.

I twist my neck back, trying to see what he could possibly be pointing at, but don't see anything. My mouth opens automatically in protest, but before any sound can leave my lips, Matrix's hand is over it once again. Quicker than I could have imagined possible, he pushes me over by my shoulder, but catches me before I hit the ground.

My back is against the apple tree upon which hangs my blue crescent moon chimes. Matrix drops to the ground beside me, keeping his hand over my mouth for a few more seconds, his eyes warning me not to speak.

Speaking is the last thing on my mind. His face is about three inches away from my own. My hormones are screaming "_Kiss him,_" and my mind is screaming, "_What is going on?_" Meanwhile, my legs are shouting, "_Ouch, sharp wood pellets._"

But suddenly I can hear it- a voice coming from behind me, and if it had been possible, I would have frozen even stiffer than I currently was. The noise that accompanies it only puts me more on edge.

_Click._

* * *

><p>"... Need to make sure they can all float," a male voice says.<p>

_Click_.

Their voices are behind a couple trees behind the apple tree we're against. I hope desperately they're walking away from, rather than towards us.

"Of course, but... just hand them the advantages..." a female voice answers.

_Click_.

Luck seems to hate me about now. I can hear them round the corner towards where they would be able to see us, above the short bushes, near the elevator. Maybe if they need to get in the elevator, they won't notice us.

"Would you rather disappoint Snow? We... end up dead," the male says ominously.

_Click_.

Dead doesn't sound good. But more pressingly, I've just realized if they get in the elevator, they'll turn around and see us. This is a lose-lose situation, unless they plan on walking past us, remaining absorbed in their conversation.

"Will you stop playing with your watch?" the female snaps.

I think if Matrix's lips hadn't pressed to mine at the exact moment they had, I would have laughed.

The kiss starts chaste- but I think after two seconds, it passes chaste. And once he starts chewing on my bottom lip, the line has really been crossed. Tongue doesn't exactly fit in the "chaste" category either. My mind could go on, but the rush of hormones flashing through it aren't exactly helping me function at the moment.

It was when his hand started sliding up my bare thigh that the situation really clicked in my mind. My hands flew to his neck, and I intertwined my fingers in his hair, because it felt like the right thing to do. He pulled his own vest off, and began unbuttoning his shirt. My hands flew to his buttons, and worked them much faster than he had.

Within about five seconds his shirt was off, and he was pressing my back to the tree, kissing me passionately. I didn't know what brought it on, but it feels so good, I don't think my mind cares enough to wonder.

"Hey!" the male voice shouts.

I can hear footsteps running in the soft soil on top of the pathways, but pay it no more mind. My mouth has more important things to do than yell at the intruders.

"Just leave them," the female laughs. "It's not like they're going to have any other time to do this," she mutters darkly, as an afterthought.

The elevator doors close with a tiny ding, and then I hear a little whoosh as it drops out of sight.

As soon as it's gone, Matrix pushes himself up and off of me, leaving me dazed and cold. "Wha-?" I start.

"Good, they're gone. I don't know what they were talking about," he growls, as if answering my question.

Well _newsflash_, I hadn't finished my question. And it didn't ask what they were talking about. I was asking _"What are you doing?"_

Clearly ignoring my shock and growing anger, he continues, pacing back and forth. "Floating? Advantages? Disappointing Snow? I'm guessing they were Gamemakers. But what could that possibly mean for the arena?"

Peeta and Theodore round the corner, actually on the path, unlike me, still sitting against the apple tree. Before they can so much as ask what happened, I'm shoving Matrix over, and running for the elevator doors.

I squeeze inside as they open, and slam the Doors Close button so hard, it gets stuck. As a result, they slam shut, almost breaking with the impact. Next my fist targets the Level 12 button. At least that one doesn't get stuck. Theodore runs for the elevator, but his hands stop against the outside layer of glass, only moments after I close the doors. I can see a few cracks spreading out from the closer layer of glass like spider webs.

The tears start pouring somewhere around slamming the Doors Close button, and I turn away from them all so they can't see me as they gather around the door until it slides away, to our floor.

* * *

><p>"What did you do?" Pasquale half-gasps, half-laughs as I step out from inside the cracked elevator doors.<p>

For once I can't say I blame her for staring at me in that manner. My blue frock is covered in dirt and woodchips, and I'm almost certain my hair is a mess of tangles and flyaway strands. The furious blush on my cheeks betrays either anger or passion, but in my case, both.

"I hope you drown," I said spitefully, stalking past her without making eye contact.

I can still hear her spluttering uncomprehendingly when I reach my room, slip inside, and slam the door. I twist the deadbolt for good measure.

"Had a bad night, sweetheart?" Haymitch's voice asks from behind me.

I don't even flinch. I think perhaps a few too many people have been sneaking into places I haven't been expecting them in. Instead, I cross over to my closet, and search for a new dress. Oh I'm not done for the night. I'm not that girl who will just curl up in bed and cry. No, I'm not done with the angry phase. Then I can cry.

I pick out the raciest dress I can find- a sparkling, pitch black number with a slit up the leg even higher than Pasquale's choice on the train the other day. As I spin around to perhaps kick Haymitch out, so I can change, I take a step back in surprise to find he's been standing just behind me.

"And what do you think you're doing with that?" he asks innocently, but I can hear the threat in his tone. _You're not going anywhere in that dress,_ it says.

"Out," I say, pressing my luck a little farther. If he doesn't have the guts to stop me, I'm golden. I slip past him and into the bathroom, changing quickly.

The dress is a little too tight, clutching at my waist and thighs rather uncomfortably. I'm not going to let this faze me though, I've worn worse before. My hand closes on the doorknob, and I go to twist it. I freeze as I find I can't turn it any further.

"Haymitch," I call, annoyed. "This isn't funny."

"Neither is that dress," he replies casually, his voice slightly muffled by the door between us. "Take it off, and I'll let you out."

I purse my lips in frustration. The door is frosted glass, and while thick, he'll be able to tell if I change or not. I can't see any other means of exit for about half a second.

"I could just jump out the window," I say as calmly as I can manage, under the circumstances. It's a little difficult to keep the laughter out of my tone. Yes, a girl jumps out of her bathroom window, in a black sequined dress. What a sight that would make. And with the Candy Capitol as it is, I'm sure there'll be something at the bottom to stop my fall. A force field, or something.

Haymitch says unconcernedly, "Go ahead, then."

I frown for a moment, but turn towards the window, determined to make a point. As soon as my fingers touch the glass, I know something is wrong. It's far too warm to be a real window. It's almost as warm as the last shower I took. My fingers slide along the glass until I reach the wall, and then I place one hand on the wall, and one on the glass.

I curse to myself. The wall and the glass are the same exact temperature- I don't doubt the window is actually a live video screen showing me whatever is going on outside, with glass in front of it. Another wall will be behind the video screen. That explains the temperature. There's not actually any air from the outside touching this glass.

"Now will you take that thing off?" Haymitch barks, but I can hear the laughter in his tone. "What happened to make you so angry, anyway, sweetheart?"

"Nothing," I growl furiously.

I strip down out of the gown anyway, though, and wrap a towel around myself. The blue frock has already disappeared down the tiny laundry chute, and the black dress is sucked down seconds after it hits the ground.

"Close your eyes," I snap. "I want to get another dress."

"I'll get one," he says, and I watch his shadow rise and walk out of view of the frosted glass. When I try the knob again though, it's still locked. I fume silently for a few seconds, before he returns.

The door opens just wide enough for his hand, and in it is a nightgown.

I growl once more before snatching it and changing into the thing.

* * *

><p>"There, much better," Haymitch laughs as I step out of the bathroom, my cheeks flushed red with anger. I only changed into his stupid nightgown because I didn't feel like going out in front of him in a towel. Although, I'm almost certain this is payback, of a sort, for the nightgown I wore the other night.<p>

The thing goes from neck to wrist to ankle, with an inch of dreadful white lace dripping out from every edge. The pattern covering the fleecy pattern depicts sheep, jumping over fences. Whatever it references is lost on me, although I've heard of people counting sheep to fall asleep. That's never worked on me before. I always picture Katniss chasing me, shouting to run faster.

I throw the towel from before at him, and it lands across his face, muffling the laughter. He just pushes it off, as I head for my closet. Before I can reach it though, he steps in front of me, blocking me from reaching another, less embarrassing nightgown.

"Haymitch, move," I plead, less angry now than tired and upset. I want to change out of this abomination and curl up in a ball, and maybe just die.

"What happened tonight?" He persists, leaning his elbow against the doorframe of the closet. "I will not have my tributes ripping each other apart before the Games even begin. Who was it this time, Pasquale? Theodore?"

"No one," I sigh, letting my legs collapse beneath me, and I cross them sourly, planting my chin on my palm.

"What did he do?" Haymitch asks calmly, as though asking what the weather's been like.

"I didn't say it was Matrix," I huff.

"Didn't need to, sweetheart," he points out.

I just press my lips together, refusing to answer. I can't decide whether I'll tell Haymitch, and let him beat up on Matrix, or do it myself.

I'm still furious at the older boy. Can't it be fairly obvious by this point I'm crazy about him? And I thought he felt something for me! Wasn't that what our conversation after his diagnosis was about? But... I'm pretty certain if I do tell Haymitch, he will go after my partner again. Only difference being this time, I might have wanted it.

"Nothing." I say, deciding against informing him.

"You can't hide this from me," he says, his tone suddenly heavy, his face darkening. "Whatever it is he's done to you, when I find out, I'll make sure he pays for it."

"Haymitch..." I start to complain.

He just gives me a hard, cold, look for a long moment. "No. Not this time, sweetheart. Now this is up to you. Either I find out from the security cameras, or I find out from you."

His eyes bore into my own like burning coals, a semi-fury there I haven't seen before. Something occurs to me then, that has before, but not with such intensity. Haymitch does care about me. More than he cares about Katniss, I think. Those two are always so sullen and hostile around each other. But he's never been that way around me. In fact, all he's been is supportive and, more or less, kind.

Telling me he believed in me, after Rosabelle's telling me I should volunteer for the Games. The blue dress, for the Reaping. Attacking Matrix, when he found us together. It's all so overdone from a casual relationship- he seems almost like a second father to me.

Or perhaps a first. My own father never really cared. The feeling is odd, misplaced, almost. But at the same time... I'm comforted by the fact that Haymitch will be the one taking care of me in the arena. If I had to entrust my life to anyone, he would be the second person I'd choose, after my mother. Who quite frankly, might not be able to keep me alive.

"What are you thinking, sweetheart?" he asks pensively, after examining me in my moment of silence.

"I'm thinking..." I say slowly, thinking before I finish the sentence. "I'm grateful you care, Haymitch..."

His eyebrows shoot up. "But?" he muses.

"But there are some things I need to fix for myself," I whisper.

The silence hangs heavily in the air between us. I'm reminded of deep fog in the mornings, the kind that obscures everything in front of you for miles ahead, so that you can't see further than your own arm span. I look down at the carpet, picking at a few uneven strands of it, waiting for him to deny my claim to self-justice.

"Okay," he says, clapping his hands together once and standing. "Night, sweetheart."

"Haymitch, I can handle my own- wait... _what_?"

The fog clears as though a giant's blown away the metaphorical air between us. It's as though suddenly he sees everything my own way. I'm absolutely baffled.

"I agree with you," he grins, almost at the door leading out to the hallway. "You need to handle your own problems with this boy. When you're locked in the arena, I can't exactly drag him off of you. Good luck, and goodnight," he says, flourishing an invisible hat to me.

* * *

><p>"So why exactly is Matrix getting the cold shoulder?" Blip asks, as she unsheathes her sword, and goes to jabbing at the practice dummy before her.<p>

"Yes, do explain," Sky agrees, shaking his mop of blonde hair out of his eyes before joining her at the practice dummies, a long, sharp knife in hand.

We'd already introduced Blip to the Fours- the other three love having her. She's got the sarcastic twist to play with their words like dough, like nobody else can because they can't follow the unusual way they talk. Matrix and I can now hold a conversation with the Fours without being entirely confused. It's nice, really.

I twist backwards in my stretching, trying to spot the boy in question without looking obvious. My back is shouting protests soon after I spot him though, and I straighten up with a groan.

"Was it a kiss-and-leave sort of thing?" Frog inquires, after gutting her own practice dummy. And either her weapon is in the pile of rubber guts at her feet, or she's just done so with a spoon. That's all that's in her hands, at the moment. "That's what my dad did to my mom, you know," she continues matter-of-factly. "She swears he's Finnick Odair. I'm not sure about that. But I think that would be where I get my nosiness from," she grins. "I hear he's rather intrusive."

"He is," Sky agrees, after ripping the head off his dummy.

"Pretending you didn't just refer to Finnick Odair as though he were a normal guy," Blip says, glaring at Frog and Sky over her shoulder, "The Gamemakers have just got here, Rina. Explain, and I'll tell you what they're saying," she taunts in a sing-songy voice.

"No, this is staying between Matrix and I," I sigh, sinking into an almost-split. "But if they're talking about me, I want to know, please."

"Aww, where's the fun in that?" Sky chuckles. "I say we guess what they're saying."

Blip raises an eyebrow at the blonde boy, but a grin creeps its way across her features. "Alright, then, guess what they're saying right now."

I scan the twenty or so Gamemakers up above the risers, and pinpoint three who appear to be the same ones from yesterday.

"They're suggesting they go get more coffee!" Frog exclaims. "Or fruit. I can't decide. If I were them, I'd go for the fruit."

"Are they asking when the roast pig is arriving?" I smirk. Katniss told me about her experience with the Gamemakers last year... that probably also explains the thin glass barrier between them and us. And I'm sure it's not as thin as it appears to be.

"No, you're both wrong," Blip grins. "They're saying..."

Her ashen-colored face scrunches in concentration, the skin wrinkling around the small nose. I can practically see the effort she's making to scan their lips, for a sign of what they're conversing about. Each second ticks by slowly, but it's as if no time is passing at all- it's fascinating enough just watching the brown-eyed girl watch their lips.

"Well?" Frog asks, after a few more seconds. It's already clear she doesn't have as long an attention span as Sky or I.

"Shh," I say, chuckling a little. "Just let her focus."

My eyes scan the room, searching for Matrix again, while I have the excuse of not doing anything. I spot him over at the knot-tying station, evidentially trying to knot a rope to two poles, with only one hand. I snort, and shake my head in wonder. Only Matrix would waste time trying to tie a knot with one hand. We're going to have both in the arena, after all. I've just concluded he's showing off when there's a gasp behind me, and I spin around.

"Blip, what is it-?" Sky starts, worriedly.

My eyes flit from Sky's face to Blip's, and I freeze. Her eyes have widened a good centimeter from their previous positions, and her lips are mimicking the Gamemakers' words more quickly than any normal person would be able to talk aloud.

I can't make out what she's saying- I catch only a few words here and there, almost all of them being "President Snow," and "arena." Frog is dancing from foot to foot in anticipation, her eyes flicking from Blip's face to Sky's and the Gamemakers and back.

I realize the four of us just standing here looks exceedingly suspicious, and I go to stretching again, falling into a split with the other leg in front of my body. Rising out of it slowly, I hear a noise from behind. I know it's not Blip, Sky or Frog- the three of them are still watching the Gamemakers' conversation.

My leg shoots out as I spin to see the newcomer, instinctively aiming for a person's waist. A trainer would be able to stop it, but a tribute wouldn't. And I can say it was self-defense.

The whoosh of the air around me as I turn stops abruptly as my foot is stopped- grasped tightly in Matrix's hands. He raises an eyebrow at me, but grins.

"Let go," I demand, tugging backwards, trying to make him release my shoe.

"Maybe," he says, curiously eyeing Blip behind me. "What's going on?"

"None of your business," I growl, pulling my foot out of the shoe, and seizing the leather thing from him. "Go back to whatever it is you were..."

"The arena," Blip breathes aloud.

"What?" Frog and Sky gasp in unison.

"Were they talking about it? Did you hear anything?" I demand, quickly forgetting my partner behind me. "What's the layout? The details? Traps? Anything?"

"Not here," she murmurs, her eyes scanning the room carefully. "Wait until lunch."

* * *

><p>"Well?" I ask softly, sliding into the seat beside Blip, and placing my lunch tray on the table.<p>

It's loaded high with vanilla-flavored waffles, soaked in maple and chocolate syrups. There are also slices of fruits I've never even heard of before- star fruits and pineapples, mangos and whatever an avocado is, but it can't quite hold my attention while I know Blip has the information I've been dying to hear for the entire morning.

Frog and Sky take the seats on the other side of her, eyeing her with equal anticipation. Frog has been even less complacent than myself- she's asked three times already before now. I almost hit her over the head with the butt of my double swords after the third time.

"First they were saying," Blip starts, again scanning the people around us for signs of their listening in, "How the arena is set up... it's going to be so much different from last year... But then they started talking about it, how one of the heads wanted it a certain way, so they got it. They even mentioned a couple things that were wrong with it."

"That's so messed up," Frog breathes, but I can hear the excitement in her tone. "This is going to be_ boss_!"

"Boss?" Blip starts, confused. "Uh, never mind. Anyway... apparently it's set up in six levels... like a bull's eye. The center one is a lake- a big lake."

"And... does it have two stream tributaries from opposite ends?" I ask hesitantly.

"Yeah, how did you-?" Blip gasps.

"There was a picture of it on a computer screen on the train," I hastily explain. "When I bit my tongue? We went to the medic's office at the head of the train, and he turned it off before I could see a lot of it, but I did see the basic layout. I guess he was looking at blueprints of the arena."

"This is illegal, you know," Sky informs us quietly.

Both Frog and I just glare at him until he looks down, blushing furiously.

"You saw that and you didn't tell me?" Matrix complains, as he plops into the seat beside me.

"Well I didn't know what it was," I snap. "Now I do."

"The levels? What are they?" Frog demands.

"The outer ring is a wall..." Blip mutters, concentrating on recanting the conversation in her mind. "And the fifth ring was a forest. A heavy one. And fourth was a plain. With a stream," she adds.

"And what else?" Sky prods softly.

"There's... light forest," Blip says, blinking as she looks up and meets our eyes. "Bridges, on the stream tributaries on either side, but only on in that level... and a group of berry bushes, and the lake."

"A lake!" Frog exclaims delightedly.

"Yes, I love going to the lake in the summers," Sky adds loudly, covering up her exclamation, making it sound less suspicious.

"What about a lake?" Kay asks from behind me.

I jump a good inch out of my seat, and turn to look at her. Micheal isn't too far behind her, but he's a little busy trying to get a sauce-covered noodle, held a foot above his face, to enter his mouth.

I recognize this as an opportunity to enlist these five as our allies, and instantly jump on it.

"Kay, why don't you sit down, and we'll explain," I say matter-of-factly.

She raises an eyebrow, but takes the seat beside Matrix. Micheal follows, noticing her action.

"What's going on?" he wonders aloud.

I quickly enough explain the arena's layout to them, as far as we know, and then get directly to the point.

"I was hoping... once we're in the arena, we could all be allies?" I ask hesitantly.

"Of course!" Frog says cheerfully. "It'll be wonderful! We'll have a marvelous tea party, and the Careers won't be invited," she grins.

There must be some joke I'm missing out on, because the District Fours all snort.

"I'm in," Blip agrees, "I can't say the same for my partner, but..."

"We can work around him," Matrix assures her, and she nods, but I think perhaps I'm the only one to catch a darker note in the suggestion. He's not exactly suggesting we enlist him as an ally as well.

"Well we've all already agreed as long as at least one of us wins this," Kay says, gesturing to Sky, Frog, Micheal and herself, "We'll be fine with it. So being on the same team will be a good idea."

"Good," I grin, and nod at them all. "Then we have an accord?"

Frog hacks up a wad of spit, depositing it noisily in her hand, and extending it for us all to shake.

I'm not the only one to exclaim in disgust and scoot my chair farther away from her.

"That... won't be necessary," Micheal snorts. "But thanks for the sentiment,"

* * *

><p>"You realize, this gives us a whole new outlook," Matrix says, with a gleam in his gray eyes I've never seen there before. "Knowing what we're... up against?"<p>

"I suppose," I agree weakly, poking the pork chop on my plate idly with my fork.

Giving up on eating, I lean back against my pillows, and look up at the ceiling of our room. The remainder of the day had passed in jittery excitement for the seven of us, excepting myself. I just continued training, trying to focus on honing my blade skills as much as possible. I can now decapitate a practice dummy in one stroke, and spill its stomach with another. Not exactly an achievement I'm proud of, but...

"Why are you so quiet around me all of a sudden?" Matrix asks, a hint of concern lacing his tone.

"Why am I so quiet all of a sudden-?" I splutter, suddenly angry at him once again. "Why? Do you want to know why? Because I'm here! Because I'm here, with you, and I'll probably never see my family or friends again, and you're being difficult, and-..."

"I'm being difficult?" he interrupts me.

"Yes, you're..." I stop myself. Do I yell at him for the previous night's episode now, or at a later time? Does it even make a difference, at this point? "You're just being difficult," I finish vaguely.

We both let the silence hang there, drearily clogging the air with unspoken sentiments, rude and polite alike. I stab sourly at the fried egg on my plate then, imagining it as one of his organs. The yellow liquid inside spills out leisurely, slipping over the white of the egg, and pooling around it on my plate. I take some of it on the tip of my fork, and bring it to my lips. The flavor is bland, but more naturally flavored than anything. It's difficult to describe.

"Fine," he finally says, standing up quickly. He turns around before I can see his face- but his tone didn't exactly sound happy. "Alright. We'll just do this, then." When he turns to face me again, I can see his eyebrows have knitted together in a frown, and his lips pursed tightly together.

"Do what?" I complain. "And don't make this as if it's my fault!"

"Don't," he pleads, and suddenly the anger is gone from his tone. He slips to the ground before me, cupping both cheeks in his hands. "Don't do this again. I don't want a repeat of the other night."

My hand instinctively goes to his wrist, beginning to pull his hands away from my face, but I just let it rest there. My heart is beating so frantically, I'm surprised I can think enough to move my arm at all.

"Why didn't they have our Gamemaker sessions today?" I blurt out, after the thought occurs to me.

"What?" he asks, startled. He withdraws his hands, and sits back on the floor. "Were we supposed to? I can't even remember..."

"Yeah, it's the third day at lunch, Katniss said. So why didn't we have them...?" I wonder.

"Maybe they're going to do it tomorrow? Before the interviews or something." Matrix suggests. "Or maybe they'll just pull us out of bed at midnight to do it," he grins.

"You'd better hope not," I manage to smile while saying, "I'm terrible on little sleep."

All too soon, we find out Matrix was indeed, correct. Approximately half an hour after I had actually managed to fall asleep that night, (about one o'clock in the morning) a Capitol attendant entered our room, and informed us it was time for our Gamemaker sessions.

"What did I tell you, Legs," Matrix laughs, after yawning hugely.

The action is contagious, and I yawn after him, but it interrupts my glaring at him. Slipping out of bed, I go over to the closet, and seize the first fitted shirt that comes to hand, with them, a pair of stretchy black shorts.

Matrix changes into something similar in the bathroom, while I change in the room. The Capitol attendant is outside, but he's waiting rather impatiently, tapping on the door every few seconds. I realize only too late it's indeed too late to switch the shirt I've changed into, a miserable magenta-pink color, for a blue one.

"Ready for this, Legs?" Matrix asks, sliding out from the bathroom, now dressed in an orange jersey-like top, and tight black leggings rather like my shorts.

"As I'll ever be, at 1 in the morning..." I grumble.

"Oh, come on," he laughs, draping his arm around my shoulders, and leading me out. "This'll be fun. A new experience."

The Capitol attendant glares at us, but leads us to the elevator, and presses a button once we step inside.

"Isn't it all?" I sigh. "I'm tired of new experiences. Can we just go home now?"

"All in good time, Legs, all in good time," he assures me. "I promise you, we'll make it home."

"You can't promise something like that," I accuse him, as we step off the elevator, into the hall leading to the training room. "That's like promising me eternal life until, whoops, I die."

"Not the same and you know it," he chuckles, before growing serious. "Good luck."

"You too," I whisper, as we stop before the double doors leading in.

Matrix reaches his hand out and opens the door, giving me one backwards look. My heart is hammering desperately in my chest, wondering how he'll do, until-

"Well you're both going in," the Capitol attendant snaps. I can tell he isn't pleased at being awake at this hour either. "Go wait in the lunch hall with the rest of the tributes."

"Oh," I breathe, letting out the tension inside my chest. I laugh, relieved, and Matrix gives a little chuckle, before we both head for the lunch hall, together this time.

* * *

><p>The first thing I notice is that the lunch hall is packed with tributes. The second is that a green blur is streaking towards us.<p>

"Ooh, there you two are!" Frog's exclamation assails my ears, ringing far too loudly to a person who's just woken up. And her arms assailing my neck are a little drastic, too.

"Frog, get off!" I manage to choke out.

"Sorry," she gasps, leaping back. Only then do I notice her outfit- a pair of silk pajamas, in a vivid shade of green. So much for changing. She locks her arms around Matrix next, flicking a foot up in the air.

An angry blush envelops my face at the sight, but I quickly work to dispel it. There's no need to be jealous. I don't like Matrix that way. Can't like him that way. If I do, it might mean the difference between my making it home alive or not. Once we're back... well we'll see, won't we?

I happen to notice Pasquale and Theodore- the pair of them are staring rather blankly into steaming mugs of either chocolate or tea, looking rather forlorn. I could almost feel bad for Theodore, but then I remember he's my competition, and block the thought from occurring again. Pasquale on the other hand, I'm glad she's unhappy.

"There you two are," Kay laughs, striding over. She's wearing a more sensible spandex top and tight cargo pants, both in a light shade of blue. Micheal and Sky aren't far behind her, but I can tell both are sorely missing their beds about now. "You're late, you know," she says matter-of-factly.

"Yes, they were going to start about ten minutes ago, but since there's no other way in to the lunch hall, they had to wait," Sky yawns. "Now where's the coffee, I think I need some..."

He shuffles off with a semi-sleeping Micheal to some black canister upon a table, to retrieve a steaming cup of black liquid.

"There goes District one now," Frog informs me, pointing at the tall blonde boy, who's entering the training room. Thankfully, he looks tired as well.

"Which one is the other boy, Gem or Pearl?" I wonder aloud.

"I think he's Gem," Kay laughs. "I know, I had the same reaction when I heard their names."

"What's the order?" Matrix demands, cutting in to our banter. "Who goes first from each District?"

"Youngest first," Frog chirps. "Younger boy, then girl, then older boy and girl. Ooh, that makes you dead last, doesn't it, Rina?"

"Great," I grumble, dropping into a chair at the table they'd previously inhabited.

Blip is slouched over the table, and for a moment I think she's just relaxing, but then I see the even rising and falling of her chest, and realize she's fallen asleep there. I'm saved the decision of waking her up or not by Frog, who promptly trips over the leg of Blip's chair, and knocks it over as she falls to the ground.

"Whoops!" she giggles hysterically.

"Who- where- what's going on?" Blip demands groggily.

I grab her elbow and help her up, before righting the chair and allowing her to sit in it. "Gamemaker sessions, Blip," I sigh. "Like, one in the morning. Remember?"

"Oh yeah," she moans. "Right. Hate them all. I remember now."

"I don't know how they expect us to compete in the Games with this little sleep," Micheal complains, rubbing at his eyes, as he takes the seat on Blip's other side. "This is absurd. Even worse than my fishing hours."

"You work?" I ask curiously. "We don't have to until we're 18... uh, or have special circumstances," I amend, glancing at Matrix. He doesn't appear to have noticed, though. He's rather fixated on the doors the younger One boy exited through.

"Yes, of course we work," Kay trills. "It's crazy that you don't! We start at 15! Why do they make you wait in your District?"

"Well it's in the mines," I start to explain.

"The equipment," Matrix butts in. "It's the dangerous equipment plus the risk of losing your life if you don't know what you're doing. They try to make sure everyone knows as much as they can before sending them, but can't wait too long or they start getting old too fast. Can't lose the productivity, you know."

It's impossible to miss the sharp sting of sarcasm in his voice. Our table falls silent, but Blip seems to perk up at his criticism of the system. She seems to like the fact that he's unhappy with it. Maybe things in District 3 aren't as simple as designing new gadgets for the Capitol all the time.

The doors open once again, and then the other One girl, who I've nicknamed Blondie steps through them. I swallow nervously. This is going to take forever. There are still 46 more tributes to show the Gamemakers their talent.

"Well... at least we're District Four," Sky murmurs in Frog's ear.

We all look over at him, and he blushes. I don't think we were meant to hear that. Because Matrix and I aren't "at least" District 4. We're District Twelve- and the very last pair to go.

Each tribute slides by, name by name, District by District, until I find it's just Matrix, Kay and I left at the table. She's only just wished Micheal luck. Sky and Frog are younger than these two, I suppose.

The room is eerily quiet, now. Since the Careers are now all gone, there's no one to fill the room with useless banter and bragging. Just the pairs of tributes each sitting at their own tables, whispering strategies to each other, and glaring around the room.

Kay starts to hum a little tune of some sort. It sounds familiar, but I can't quite place my finger on it. Somewhere in the back of my mind, it's vaguely affiliated with television and spears, but I can't quite place the melody.

Matrix begins to hum along, and that's when I become slightly unsettled. He knows this song too? Where could it possibly be from, that I can't remember? It's a striking melody. On the third verse, or so. Really, it's creeping into my bones and settling there. I just hope I don't start humming this on the day of my interviews, and find out the hard way it's something offensive.

Kay's name is called then though, and we wish her luck. As she goes, the silence rolls in, crushing any attempts I might have made at conversation.

"Wake me when you go?" I ask, placing my arms on the table.

"Sure," Matrix shrugs.

I snuggle my face into the magenta shirt, and try to find some comfort in the fact that I'm getting a little sleep before this. It's cold, though, and a shiver runs down my arms.

And then a strange warmth envelops me, one I wouldn't have expected. Matrix's arms drape around my own, and his chin rests on my shoulder. It's uninvited, but not unappreciated. I shift my chin forward once, before the warm starts to dispel the cold from my skin, and my eyes close gently.

* * *

><p>"Legs," A distant voice hisses.<p>

I ignore it easily. I'm a little busy at the moment anyway. The Meadow is full of dandelions, and Katniss and Prim are running around, laughing as they pick them. For some reason, I'm crouched on the ground, following them. There's a nauseating feeling in my stomach telling me I need to stay hidden from them.

The scenery keeps changing around me. First we're in the Meadow, then it's only Katniss, behind the bakery, for some reason. Before I can determine why, it changes again, and then I'm in Haymitch's house, training. His sword swipes by my right ear, and I gasp, ducking away. The whoosh of air from his sword gets in my ear, feeling rather uncomfortable.

My eyes fly open and I come awake with a gasp, only to find Matrix to my right. "What-?" I mumble.

"I have to go," he says. "I had to make sure you were awake. Get yourself oriented, you hear? Being tired in there won't help you with anything."

I nod, before watching him turn and head for the doors. "Good luck!" I call, after remembering he's my partner, after all. He turns back and waves, before the doors close, and I'm alone.

My voice echoes in the empty hall, and I shiver, pulling my arms tightly around me. One hand instinctively goes up to my eye to rub the tiredness from it, but as I do so, I notice something. Or rather, the lack of something.

Rosabelle's bracelet is still missing... whoops. When was the last time I had it? I question myself. If I remember correctly, it was before the Opening Ceremonies. Hopefully Cinna has it... but I'll never know if I don't survive the night in here. I need to focus, I tell myself.

My mind instantly jumps to what I'll do for the Gamemakers, and terror grips at my chest. I haven't planned anything, didn't even think to try other weapons. I've been training mainly with my sword the whole time.

Swords aren't bad though, are they? I continue, trying to keep my breathing around average. I can show them how good I am with my swords. It shouldn't be an issue. Should it? How many of the other tributes have gone in there and shown them swordplay? A few? One? All of them? I can't know.

Too soon, much too soon, they're calling my name, and I stand and cross to the double doors, as if in a trance. My heartbeat thumps desperately in my chest, seeking an escape from this prison which forthwith it will almost certainly have to abandon anyway. My footsteps echo almost as loudly in the training room as my voice had in the lunch hall. The place seems to have gained an eerie air while I was napping, as though the familiar training room I'm somewhat used to has fled and left this deserted copy in its place.

The lack of sound altogether is nerve-wracking, in that normally, there would be crashing and banging, clashing of swords and the clunks of dummy heads dropping to the floor. There would be laughter and shouting alike, in people complimenting one another, humiliating one another. With 47 other people in it, the room comes almost close to what a classroom should feel like, in my opinion. With none, it feels like the executioners' hall.

But of course, I'm not really alone. The Gamemakers, all 24 of them, sit atop their balcony, looking out over the training room. Only a few of them so much as look up as I enter. The rest appear to be sleeping, eating, or making banter between themselves. I just hope I can catch enough of their attention to get a good score.

"Marina Valli," the head Gamemaker, one I recognize as Plutarch Heavensbee, says. "Begin."

I nod up at him, and cross over to the sword rack. It's been moved from behind the mats to the center of the room, and I find my two blades with no difficulty. I flick the ruby one up in the air to show off, twirling my wrist to make sure it spins while airborne.

I manage to catch it, surprising myself. Usually I miss such tosses, but I'm grateful my isolated success was at this exact moment. I catch myself before I can peer up at the Gamemakers' box, not really knowing if I've caught more of their attention yet. Perhaps it's better if they don't watch me. Then I'll get a low score, and all the sponsors will be on Matrix's shoulders.

I make a beeline for the practice dummies- intending to show off a little further. It's not as though they're live opponents, but they'll do. If I had a live opponent to practice with, to show the Gamemakers what I can do, I'm sure I would get a good score. But at this point in time, it's not exactly an option. But I know I can decapitate those, at the very least. They're supposed to have the exact amount of force holding them together as a human body would.

I stop at the first dummy, and stare into its rubber eyes. Do I go for the painful kill? The powerful kill? Slice out its guts and then go on to the next? They do have rubber innards, after all. But before I can think to kill it, my mind pulls up a face to attach to it, for sanity's sake.

Matrix's face stares blankly out at me from the dummy's rubber features for a half-second, before I've changed my mind, and switch it to Plutarch Heavensbee. If there's anyone I should be blaming for my current predicament, it's him. Him and President Snow and their precious Games.

One deep breath is all I need, and then I'm swinging the twin blades, faster than I have before, right across the thing's neck. I keep my eyes shut, in case I won't like the outcome. I continue as such, moving as quickly as possible, since I know exactly where each dummy stands. All of them are exactly two feet apart in each direction. At the next one, I don't even feel the thing before slicing up where I know its stomach will be. Hopefully, they'll think I know what I'm doing, and can make a painful kill, thus perhaps aim their muttations at another tribute. Really, I'm just slicing at this thing as fast as I can until I hear rubber entrails hit the floor.

I go down the row one by one until I'm at the last one, and each has lost their stomach- literally. Only then do I open my eyes. I don't look back at my mass destruction though, rather, I seize a belt of knives from a table to my right. I start to turn away, but then notice something else. There's a large cloth napkin sitting on the table, beside the knives. I snatch that and tie it around my eyes for good measure. I'm a good enough throw to hit something at least most of the time.

All my senses sharpen instantly- I can hear each murmur the Gamemakers are making, even if not the exact words. I can smell the desserts they must be eating right now... chocolate cakes and tarts and cookies. I can taste the blood in my mouth from biting my cheek after nicking my hand on one of my slices to a dummy. And most importantly, I can feel the knives, and know they're almost identical to the ones I've used at Katniss' house.

Doing an about-face, I take three large steps away from the dummies, then take another spin around, to where I know the dummies will be sitting, dripping fake blood upon their rubber insides.

I raise one arm, carefully judging where I think the first dummy will be. I picture the room in my mind, and Plutarch Heavensbee is standing where the dummy should be. My arm drops, and the knife flies. I listen intently in the seconds afterward, and hear a resonant thud. Not the wall, then. Perhaps not the correct dummy, but I know I've hit at least one of them.

Two more steps backwards, and then I throw again. I continue this process, since it seems to be working, until I find my belt has run out of knives. Then I remove the blindfold, and eye my havoc.

There are about ten dummies in the line, without my focusing too much on counting. Approximately eight of those have a knife stuck in their chest, either in or by their heart. Three have a knife in or near their groin. Five have completely lost their intestines, and four are close to having lost all. One has lost its head, with a knife in both its heart and groin.

"You may be dismissed," Plutarch Heavensbee's voice calls down, and my eyes fly up to where they still sit.

At least three quarters of them are staring at the bloody messes that used to be practice dummies, and only a few are talking. But I can see it's not the casual kind of talking as before, rather, a low, secretive sort of talking.

I don't bother lingering on it, though. The swords clatter from my hands and I release the belt from my waist, before yawning and heading towards the elevator. I'm surprised I hadn't fallen asleep during my session, but I'm glad now I can, at least.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** And... that's chapter 9! (Which actually includes like five chapters in the other site's set up. Yeeeaaaaah. Sorry about the awkward spacing. But, uh. I hope you liked it! Reviews are love~!


	10. Chapter 10

Half-expecting to be denied sleep as I stumble out of the elevator, back on my own floor, I'm startled to find it's absolutely deserted. The lights in the small hallway are all extinguished, and there's no noise to signify the television being on, or light under the doors telling me Pasquale and Theodore are awake.

I assume both of them are happily asleep, after their own private sessions. Matrix too should have returned a good fifteen minutes before myself. All I can do is clumsily open the door to our room, and fall onto the bed. I don't even have the energy to remove my shoes before my eyes have closed, and the weight of gravity refuses to allow me to open them again.

Through closed lids, I can tell the room is relatively lighter than it had been last night. So it's morning. I roll over and try to fall back asleep. An extremely bothersome talking sound comes from somewhere behind me, but I know it isn't Matrix. The voice is female, with a male, but it sounds more like Caesar Flickerman than Matrix Cartwright. Caesar Flickerman... The interviews! They're... _in two days_!

I bolt awake, gasping for breath, and scrambling to my feet. Matrix is gone from his bed, but the door is open. It's there that the sound of the voices is coming from- the television in the other room. I exhale slowly, letting the adrenaline fade away. Well, at least I'm awake.

Before going out to brave the private Gamemaker session scores, I decide to take a shower. It's better to completely calm down and clean up before facing that. I still can't decide whether they've given me an exceedingly high score, or a ridiculously low one. They have no reason to make my score so low, but... I can't evade the sensation that I won't be happy with whatever score I receive.

I scan each and every button carefully before pressing the warm shower button, and undressing to step in. While under the gentle cascade of water, I search for a personal favorite from the other day- cinnamon and vanilla. I find two separate body washes and one shampoo, but no combination of the two. Resigned, I press each in order, and one jet to untangle my hair before the shampoo. A thorough rinse follows, and then I'm done, ready to step out and get dressed.

I freeze, realizing I've no clothes to change into. Cursing myself silently, I wrap a fluffy white towel tightly around my body, and slip out the bathroom door, over to the closet. I close the frosted glass doors behind me, and pull the nearest outfit off its hanger. There seems to be a built-in bra, from what I can feel in the dark, as well as a pair of pants. I stumble around a bit to find the underwear, but eventually discover where it is, before I change.

Stepping out, I straighten the sweater and then deposit the towel by the bathroom door. Apparently the outfit I chose in the dark was a purple and black striped sweater with a tie at the waist, and a white tank top, with a casually-formal (although short) black skirt. I also found a pair of short, clean white socks, and black flats, completing the ensemble.

The television's noise is still echoing from the other room, but now it is joined by the conversing voices of Effie, Haymitch, and surprisingly, Peeta. I step hesitantly into the room, almost waiting for Katniss to start shouting at me for something else I didn't really think about before doing, until I realize she's not there. It's only the three of them, who all look up as I enter. They all fall silent as I take a seat beside Haymitch on the sofa.

"What?" I mutter. "You can keep talking."

"You should see the scores yourself, sweetheart," Haymitch grumbles. "Then we'll talk."

"They're starting now," Peeta sighs. "Just wait. Then you'll see."

I look to the TV, where indeed, they've just started rebroadcasting the Gamemaker session scores. Unsurprisingly, the other pair from One goes first. The boy receives an 8, and the girl, Blondie, gets a 7. Gem is next, his picture joined by the number 8. Pearl receives a 9 in the same half-minute span.

"They don't join the teams' scores?" I ask.

"No, the scores are individual. They'll show the team scores after... two scores out of 24 points for each District." Effie snaps. "Completely ridiculous, if you ask me. They didn't go to the session together, they shouldn't share a score, but..."

"Effie, hush," Peeta interrupts her.

I snort a little, but quickly look back to the screen as District 3's scores appear. Blip's partner gets only a four, and Blip herself receives a 6. Sky is the first for District 4, and he gets an 8. Frog has a 9, Key gets a 7, and Micheal also received a 7.

I look away from the screen then, about to inform Haymitch that we've allied with them, before I remember Peeta is still in the room. I shouldn't be letting him in on our strategies. And speaking of strategies...

"Haymitch we still haven't-" I start.

"Worked out a strategy, I know," he growls. "Everything has been so insane, there hasn't been time. It's not going to go well. Today, that's what we're doing."

I nod, before looking back to the television. There's nothing else to say, in present company. I catch the number 2 flashing underneath a rather familiar-looking girl's picture, one I recognize as the girl from the train, probably District Nine. Ten and Eleven pass by quickly, since I don't know any of the tributes, and then they're showing Theodore's picture.

"A four?" I gasp quietly.

Peeta nods silently.

When Pasquale's picture comes up, I'm slightly more prepared. I'd been expecting such from her. There's a red, flashing 6 beneath her name. Completely average. Oh, won't she be furious.

Sooner than I'd expected, Matrix's image is covering the screen, and a number I couldn't possibly have guessed is covering the bottom half of his chin. I have no time to think on it or comment though, because then there's my picture, and the number beneath it doesn't make any sense.

"I got a ten?" I breathe.

"Of course you did, sweetheart," Haymitch laughs, throwing an arm around my shoulder. "Knew you'd do great."

"Whatever you did in there did the trick, Rina," Peeta assures me, smiling.

"Yes yes, that's brilliant," Effie cuts in. "But need I remind you all that their interviews are in two days, and we haven't prepared a thing? Now off with you, go make a strategy, something, anything I can work with!" She stands and tries to shoo us out with her extremely long manicured nails, but to no avail. Haymitch just glares until she titters angrily and storms away.

"As we were saying," Haymitch continues, unfazed by her interruption. "It's a little... ah, difficult to balance this all out, you see."

"Because Pasquale and Theodore's scores were rather... low," Peeta mutters. "And you two..."

"How did Matrix do so well?" I blurt out.

The number 10 burns twice, side by side in my vision when I close my eyes. Matrix and I both got 10s. Both of us! That's beyond even what Gem and Pearl, the "perfect" Careers got. We had an advantage on them by three points.

"You'll have to ask him yourself, sweetheart," Haymitch snaps. "Because I don't have the faintest idea. He's been distant all morning. You need to get him to come in the room later for strategical planning. We need something for you two to do!"

"I suppose Katniss and I should be tutoring Pasqale and Theodore...?" Peeta starts hesitantly.

"Yes, yes, yes!" Haymitch growls. "What are you, still just a tribute? You're a mentor now! Act like it!"

Peeta shuffles off ashamedly, but gives me a parting glance, accompanied by a warm smile. He's proud of my 10 as well, even if I'm not his tribute. Which is an awkward position. He's supposed to be fighting for Pasquale and Theodore's lives, but is rooting for me, because he's known me. I can't possibly imagine how torn Katniss is by all of this. It's then that it hits me- I haven't exactly been the nicest person to Katniss as of late. I didn't even think about her position in this all until right now, and now that I have, I wish I could take back every mean word I've uttered to or about her this past week.

"Sweetheart, you're spacing out on me," Haymitch sighs.

"What?" I say, shaking my head out. "Oh. Sorry,"

"Yes, yes. Now go get the boy, will you?"

"Can I go get breakfast first?" I wonder.

"He's there, so you might as well." he sighs. "Just eat a lot, alright? You're going to need the extra calories for the arena."

I nod, and start for the dining room. Almost instantly though, I stop, and turn back to Haymitch.

"Haymitch?" I ask. "We made allies with all of District Four, and Blip, the last girl from Three."

"Four?" He exclaims incredulously, turning to face me over the back of the couch. "You got_ all_ of_ Four_?"

"Yes," I laugh, only finding humor in his expression. It's as though I've just announced I'm his daughter, or something. You'd think this would be slightly less jaw-dropping information, but apparently it isn't so.

"They're Career pack, though!" he crows. "How-?"

I shrug. "That girl in the train you knocked out? She liked me," I chuckle. "I guess Four likes her so much, they're all just our allies now. It's going to be so easy, in the arena now."

"Don't underestimate your opponents," Haymitch growls, switching back to his usual surly mood. "But that's good- splitting up the Career pack and allying with them. I'm proud of you, sweetheart."

I smile, nod once, and start for the dining room. I quickly push a strand of black hair out of my eye, and then head for the buffet table, before even looking at the eating table. My plate is quickly piled high with steaming eggs, intermingled with cheeses and spices, and several varieties of what seem to be scones. I can tell after one quick bite they're all much richer than the ones we had at home, even with the same level of income as a merchant family.

Without really paying attention to the seating arrangements, I take the seat beside Matrix, while being as far away from Katniss as possible. I'm sure she still isn't the happiest with me, high score or no.

"Nice score," Matrix muses.

"You too," I grin. "We both did well."

Pasquale slams her fork onto the table furiously, and picks up her plate, still half-full of food. Apparently disregarding that fact, she hurls it over her head, at the wall above us. I flinch away as the glass shatters, sending shards flying over our heads and onto the table. A clump of what feels like porridge lands on my head, and I can see a syrup-coated grape land in Matrix's cup.

"Rub it in, why don't you?" Pasquale snaps. "Go make love over your amazing scores somewhere else, won't you? Some of us aren't so lucky."

She starts to storm out, but Katniss is up in a flash, standing before her, and blocking the door back into the living room.

"That's no way to behave," she says. "Apologize. Just because you got a lower score doesn't mean you can lower your attitude."

I don't think I've ever seen such rage in her eyes, except perhaps while she was confronting me about volunteering. Pasquale wilts under the victor's gaze, looking down with an embarrassed blush.

"No," she complains. "I'm not going to apologize. She got the better partner! Why? We're the same age!"

"You all chose your own partners," Katniss exclaims, exasperation clear in her voice. "If you didn't like the pairing, you should have said so. It's a little late to change now."

Theodore's face is absolutely dripping with upset. I half want to go across the table to him, and comfort the boy. But he is still my opponent, and I don't know if it would be construed as yet another threat to Pasquale's domination.

"We have to strategize," Katniss growls, gripping Pasquale's sleeve tightly at the shoulder. "Theodore, come on. We'll work something out."

With that she drags the blonde girl out, but not before she can flash me a rude hand gesture, and Theodore's blush deepens. He nods apologetically before exiting the room entirely.

"We have to strategize too, you know," I say, shattering the silence that has hung around us since their departure.

"I know," Matrix says matter-of-factly.

"Well? Why not now?" I ask, having given up on the half of my plate that has shards of glass sprinkled over it.

"_Why_ now?" he complains. "Why not later?"

"Because we need to have this done?" I suggest. "Let's just do this, and then maybe we can... explore the rooftop, or something."

As far as convincing arguments go, I think that one would have scored a zero. Matrix thinks so too, evidentially, by the tired smirk on his face, but he rises with a sigh. "Fine," he mutters, preceding me into the living room.

I'm surprised to see that it's completely deserted once again. Effie must be off trying to win more sponsors, and I guarantee Peeta is attempting to make Theodore feel better. Meanwhile, Katniss is probably having a stern talking-to Pasquale about tribute-like behavior. Normally, I wouldn't think Katniss would be the one to do it. But after seeing the outburst firsthand, I'm sure she's getting involved to stop it.

Having come from her background, I'm sure she won't tolerate that kind of behavior at all. Just because we're in the candy-Capitol doesn't mean we can act like spoilt little children, with candy-focused eyes. She'll be reminding the blonde girl that this is not all fun and games. No, it's just Games.

"There you two are," Haymitch snaps as we enter. "Well it took you long enough, Rina,"

"Sorry," I murmur. "It's not my fault Pasquale had a fit."

"Yes, I heard that," he grins, before getting back on track. "Anyway. You two. We need a strategy."

"We run." Matrix suggests dully. "Into the forest or cliffs or whatever it is they've set up."

"I think we both can run," I interrupt him. "So we should probably try and gather some supplies first, then..."

"First things first, actually," Haymitch says, stopping me mid-sentence. "The interviews. What angles are you going for?"

"Can't we do that tomorrow?" I ask quickly. "I mean, I thought that was our preparation day..."

"It is," Haymitch agrees. "That and the next day. But that doesn't mean you can't get a base idea now."

"Actually, it does." Matrix says, sounding rather bored. "Can we just focus on the arena, for now?"

"Yes, I want to save the interview preparation for later..." I agree weakly.

"Fine," Haymitch huffs. "Fine. Well then what do you want to do _in the arena_," he says, clearly mocking our decision to skip the interview training.

"I think we should gather some supplies," I say, looking to Matrix for support. "And then agree to meet up with everyone else at either the tallest tree, or rock or something, or nearest water source, and protect that."

"Water source," Matrix agrees. "Definitely water source. And being District Four they should know how to find one."

"That's it?" Haymitch barks. "Details, details!"

We spend the remainder of the day planning and replanning our beginning, all the way until our victory, and even what we'll do if we're left alone with any of our allies, with every other competitor dead. I don't like thinking about that particular part, but it's necessary. If we're to return home, they can't. I have to get used to that fact- and less accustomed to being comfortable around them. Once we're in the arena, this friends act must stop. We've got to focus on winning, once we're there.

* * *

><p>The next day is all a blur- surprisingly, extremely busy. Effie insists on training Matrix and I on how to behave for the interviews, complete with stiff outfits and pointed shoes. Yes, even Matrix. I think his suit was starched, and the shoes had to have been extremely close in tip-length to Effie's own talon-like shoes.<p>

Mine, unfortunately, had heels as well as pointed toes. Terrible pin-like things that raise my ankles up about five inches. I can't walk in them without falling over, and twice I would have probably snapped my ankle, if it weren't for Matrix's supporting arm.

After the walking in the outfits is mastered, she forces correct grammar and speaking etiquette upon us, and makes us quote about a hundred stupid phrases that would never come out of our mouths back to her. Then it's smiling, before I receive about a half-hour break while she coaches Matrix on how to sit or stand. It's all fun and laughter at his mistakes until it's my turn, and then the process goes vice versa on me, leaving me as the laughed-at one.

So when it's finally time to sleep, we're both so exhausted, we fall on each other's beds and instantly zone out. I think we missed dinner, too, but neither of us could chew if we had wanted to. My mouth had been screaming in agony after all the smiling. I don't know how Katniss dealt with this last year without strangling Effie.

This morning, apparently Haymitch wants to come up with our approaches. And wants us to eat more. Apparently we're not "built" enough for the Games. As a result, our plates are loaded with the most sugary, carbohydrate-loaded foods we can find, and then we take refuge from Pasquale's shouting match with Katniss in our room.

"So I think Matrix could pass off cocky, but you, Rina..." Haymitch muses as we enter. "We need you two to clash or match, really, because that's what the audience will be looking for. Lots of drama."

"I'd prefer silent," Matrix huffs, digging into his pancakes. "Silent and stealthy, or something."

"Well, that's great, but you'll be handcuffed to another person," Haymitch snorts. "Good luck getting stealth in there."

"We should be good at it," I defend Matrix's position. "We both can run, and I'm sure climbing a tree could be done, too," My mind is already racing through the possibilities. There's supposed to be what, three rings of forest in the arena? If the setup we overheard was correct.

"If there are trees," Matrix adds quickly, shooting me a warning glance. "And if not... there's always rocks."

"Or snow," I finish, trying to smooth over the rough spot. I suppose I don't know what would happen if Haymitch found out we knew what the arena looked like... but then again, do I want to take that chance?

Matrix and Haymitch begin arguing over our "stealthy and silent" approach for the interview, but my mind drifts off, as I continue eating. Would he really mind if he knew we knew what the arena was? No, I tell myself, most likely not. Actually, I think he'd congratulate us. No, it's not Haymitch I don't want to know. It's whatever or whoever might be listening in on our conversations.

There's this eerie feeling that follows you around everywhere while you're here, telling you that you should mind your mouth. This isn't District Twelve, where nobody cares about what you say or where you say it, so long as the Peacekeepers don't hear. This is the candy-Capitol, with its candy-cameras and candy-people, and the President, somewhere knotted deep in it all.

"Well, Legs?" Matrix asks, bringing me back to the present.

I swallow my mouthful of eggs, before speaking. "What?" I ask.

"What do you think of the approach?" he demands impatiently.

"What approach?" I sigh. "I wasn't listening."

"A romance," Haymitch mutters sourly. "I don't think it'll work, it-"

"No." I interrupt him. "Absolutely not. There are too many people already with that approach. We need something different. Like, optimistic. How pleased we are it was us and not someone else, and that we're going to do District Twelve proud, or something."

"That works," Matrix muses, but I can hear in his voice he's still stuck on the romance idea. "But perhaps..."

"With a twist?" Haymitch suggests. Well, at least I've caught him. "What if one of you is... engaged, or in a serious relationship back home? Give them the sympathy card?"

"Or... if you love your sibling a lot?" I suggest, looking at Matrix. His eyes meet mine, and I know he gets what I'm suggesting. He should play the Rosabelle thing up.

Apparently Haymitch catches on, because as soon as our gazes break, he's talking again. "Yes, if you volunteered for his sister, who he dearly loves, out of some... unknown attraction to him, like Peeta, last year?"

"Uh..." I gasp, startled by his conclusion. It's as though the breath has been knocked from my chest- how could he come up with that? How could he? He must know the extent of my feelings for the boy beside me already. By now. He does, doesn't he?

"I suppose..." Matrix says, but he sighs afterwards, betraying his dislike of the idea. "Isn't there something better we could use?"

"Do you want my help or not?" Haymitch growls. "I'm giving you Capitol gold here, alright? Pick something already."

"What if..." I start, my brain racing to stop the nightmare that might unfold on the interview stage from happening. "We didn't get along, but both had something in common- Rosabelle."

"And?" Haymitch demands, pressing me further. "What's going to make your story more fascinating for the Capitol audience than any other?"

"The fact that..." I continue slowly, my mind pushing to finish the thought. "We hate each other on the surface, but underneath that, there's clearly something more."

My heart is pulsing quickly, much too quickly, but I ignore the struggling organ and focus on keeping my breathing even. I can make this theory work. I can make it work, without putting in too much effort, either. While I'm in the arena, I'll know there are cameras, and that they're going to be watching me every single second. That I won't want my attraction to the black-haired boy beside me known. And that even though I try very hard, it will still show.

"There are already the pictures from the train station..." Matrix muses in agreement with my theory. "Combined with the hug from the beginning of the parade. And the odd little hand-holding thing from the end of the Opening Ceremonies."

"Yes... I see it," Haymitch says quietly, his sour expression quickly changing into one of triumph. "Yes, that's what we'll go with!"

* * *

><p>The rest of the day is entirely wasted, used for more training. Evidentially we don't need more coaching on our approach, because he's not coaching us socially, like Effie did yesterday. But I do learn how to tie a knot with one hand, courtesy of Matrix.<p>

Haymitch leaves not long after dinner, more accurately, after forcing us to eat every single morsel on our plates. Apparently dinner was mostly some bird called a "turkey," and I grow unusually sleepy after eating it. Rather than the usual routine of discussing various irksome topics with Matrix, like Pasquale's latest fit, or what we're going to do with our allies at the end of the Games, I just crawl under my covers into a little ball, and try not to think about the interviews tomorrow evening.

Although they're not until rather late at night, our prep teams will need the whole day to make us ready for them. I can't possibly fathom what about me might need to be changed so drastically, they need 12 hours to do it, but it's not really my place to question such things. I'm the doll, as it were, in the child's room. They dress me up, they make me act like I don't normally, and then they play "games" with me and other dolls.

The comparison fits so accurately, I almost grow violently ill. A sudden image of a baby doll, with my straight black hair and silver-gray eyes, in the hand of a well-dressed, smirking child appears in my head. The well-dressed child frowns, and removes my dress- one I recognize as almost identical to Haymitch's Reaping gift, the turquoise blue one with wooden beads.

In its place, she slips on a red dress, that looks eerily like the one Katniss wore for her interview last year. There are sparkling flame designs up the length, that glitter in the light. The child spins the doll around, giggling cruelly as it falls from her hands to the floor.

The doll's face cracks on the hard marble floor, sending pieces of her face skittering across the tile... Pieces of my face stare blankly up at me, disjointed and wrong. It's tolerable, until the red liquid starts leaking out from behind each piece of the face, and the rest of me as the child rips the doll's body apart...

My eyes are open in a millisecond, and I'm up and out of the bed in another. My foot catches in the bedding as I rise, and I tumble to the floor in a heap of blankets and sheets, as well as a forgotten spoon from dinner. There's a muffled shattering noise behind me, and I know the mirror on my bedside table has been knocked off, shattering around me. Shattering like the glass face of the doll version of myself... The blankets are suffocating, seemingly tightening around my arms as I struggle wildly to be free of the hindering cloths.

My feet thrash violently against the fabric, and soon I'm on my back, having been unable to keep my balance. The position while combined with the far-too-real nightmare and the constricting blankets are too much, and I let out a choked sob. I clutch my shirt and tug it above my head, not wanting to see my surroundings any longer. The world is threatening to black out around me, closing me in my blanketed, candy-Capitol prison.

Within moments, the blanket is loosening, and I feel strong arms supporting my back, helping me into a sitting position. I rock back and forth on my knees, unwilling to remove the shirt from my face. If I take it away, what will I see? My face breaking to pieces on the ground, again? My blood leaking from body parts strewn across a white marble flooring? Cameras taping all of the above?

"Rina," Matrix's voice reaches my ears, finally, and I quickly hear the worry in his voice. "Rina, what's wrong?"

I pull the fabric away from my eyes, peeking to see that it really is him before me, with his hand on my arm, before removing it all the way. I throw myself into his arms, burying my nose in his chest, before allowing the built-up emotion inside of me to leak out, in the form of tears and snot.

"What happened, are you alright?" he persists.

For only a few seconds, this freedom from the blankets, and crying eases the pressure thrumming inside my chest. Then the sinking of the room around me commences, and I begin to hyperventilate for the second time. I can almost see the white marble floors again, with the red substance in a puddle around me.

"Air," I choke out, between sobs.

Matrix is on his feet in seconds, holding me in his arms, exactly like the day we left District Twelve, at the train station. I'm not left time to think about this though, since my chest is growing tighter with each passing second. He rushes through the door and to the elevator, inside which he slams the "Rooftop," button.

The glass contraption shoots upwards, and I'm surprised he doesn't lose his footing in the shift in gravity's pressure. Then again... I'm also surprised I haven't lost the contents of my stomach yet. What a surprising night. But then the doors are open, and he's stepping outside. I'm deposited on a curved cement bench, with rubber-covered cushions.

The open night sky seems to have cleared my chest- at once I can breathe again, and I do so with great fervor, sucking air greedily. Thankfully, the rooftop's surroundings look nothing like the room with the white marble floors and the well-dressed child, with the shattered me-doll...

"Rina?" Matrix's voice echoes in my mind, startling me out of thoughts of the nightmare.

"I'm okay," I say quickly. "It was just... a nightmare. A very scary, realistic nightmare."

"About the Games?" he asks curiously. "You don't have to answer if you don't want," he adds quickly, sensing my discomfort. "I was just wondering..."

"No, it wasn't about the Games..." I say hesitantly. "It was... a girl, in a white marble room, playing with dolls."

The look on Matrix's face would have been comical if I wasn't so rattled. He raises one eyebrow at my description of the "nightmare," and I can see the corners of his mouth quirking up slightly, as if he's trying to resist smiling.

"It wasn't just that," I add defensively, frowning at his finding humor in the situation. "The doll was... me. Before we came to the Capitol. And then she changed my dress into Katniss', you know from the interviews last year, the one with the gems..."

"This isn't sounding very scary," Matrix interrupts me, struggling to keep a straight face. "This is sounding more like prep-team-aphobia."

"It's not," I pout, but can feel my chest lightening with each word of it I explain to him. I continue as if he hasn't just insulted what's clearly making me upset. "Now stop interrupting me. The doll-me is wearing Katniss' dress, and then the girl takes the doll and spins it in the air, but drops it, and it's... my face shatters all over the floor. But... all the pieces leak blood all over the marble, then. And she rips up the rest of the body as well, and it's just..." I shiver and stop.

He loops his arms around me, holding me close to his chest. "Now I see how it was scary," he whispers. "It's not real, Legs, I promise you. Nobody is going to smash your face."

I burst out in giggles, and shove him away playfully. "You're such an idiot," I complain jokingly.

"I try, I try," he agrees headily.

The banter is nice. It's such a change from the usually tense atmosphere, I know at once the nightmare won't come back. And if it does, I'll tell myself that. I'll show myself Matrix's face all serious like that, and have him repeat those words. _"Nobody is going to smash your face."_

It's pitiful, but it's a start. And it oh-so-perfectly matches our interview approach. He's so annoying, and so lovable at once.

* * *

><p>Thankfully, the rest of the night passes with no further incidents. Well, unless you count a green-masked, bath-robed, slipper-wearing Effie's running at us like a bat, shrieking and flapping her robe at us, telling us we need sleep. And the ensuing giggling fit, behind a locked door.<p>

The next morning, we're bustled off to the Remake Center to be prepared for our interviews. Nothing of interest happens on the way there, but once we step inside the automatic doors, Pasquale immediately asks to have a separate room. Huh. And we hadn't even been asked to take our clothes off yet.

Already knowing what's coming next, I strip and take a seat in the blue-rubber coated chair with the footrests that sits before the mirror. I take a good look at the girl facing me in the mirror. She's so very different from the girl I was 6 months ago, and even a week ago. This girl is determined and hard, yet so vulnerable in certain ways.

My analysis is interrupted as Cinna enters, carefully holding a long white garment bag. He hands it to Flavius, who quickly bustles off into the other room with it, taking it from my sight.

"Hello, Rina," Cinna says amiably.

"Hi," I manage to get out, and grin. I just want this all over with.

"Do you want me to tell me what your theme is now, or would you rather be surprised?" he wonders aloud, in that almost-infuriatingly calm voice of his.

"I think I'd rather be surprised," I smile.

Actually, I wouldn't. I'd love to know what my theme is for tonight. But at this point, my nerves are gnawing at my stomach so intensely, I just need something to do while the prep team works on me. So I'm going to watch them transform this girl in the mirror into a different gorgeous girl, and guess what _her_ theme is.

This time around, I also listen to what my prep team is saying. The majority of it is useless chit chat I'll never understand, even if I took a course in Capitol culture, because apparently it's always changing. Something that was popular last week can be unpopular this week, and something popular this week can be unpopular next week. They change that quickly.

It's no wonder they need so many of us to kill off. You have a death match between only two people, and they'll get bored too quickly.

There are a few insightful tidbits in their discussions, though. Like how all three of them have been hearing rumors about what the interviews will be like this year.

"What have you heard about them?" I wonder aloud, after Octavia brings it up for the third time, without elaborating.

"Ooh, it's fantastic," Venia trills. "They're going to be all different this year. Some people are saying they're going to be up in the sky!"

"No, I heard they're going to be in the same place, just be twice as long, and give each tribute pair double the time," Flavius argues.

"But it's also been said that they're going to do something special this year," Octavia informs me conspiratorially. "Nobody knows what, but we all think it'll have something to do with circles."

"Circles?" I snort. "Why circles?"

"Because they're building a ginormous circular _something_ in the square!" Venia exclaims.

"Not spherical circular, just round and flat," Flavius clarifies, twirling a strand of my hair between his fingers idly. "Like a dartboard!"

"Yes, like a dartboard!" Octavia agrees. "Speaking of which, my cousin got the_ nastiest_ rash that looked just like one of those the other day! It was _horrible_!"

There's no keeping them on track for longer than a minute. In fact, I think I'm lucky I had them as long as I did. But I know one thing- this year's Games are probably themed something along the lines of Bull's eyes.

First the arena, then a circular construction in the square where our interviews will be? I'm only just coming to the conclusion that it can't possibly be a coincidence when Cinna enters, and shoos the prep team out.

He finishes the rest of my makeup in silence, and then goes into the other room, presumably to retrieve the outfit for tonight.

"What time is it?" I ask hesitantly.

"It's already six in the evening," he smiles. "Time flies when you're having fun, they say."

"Fun... is not the word I'd have used," I chuckle. "But alright. Is that my-?"

"Your dress, yes," he agrees, grinning brilliantly. I think every single one of his teeth is perfectly white, in this light anyway. "You're going to be the best-dressed there, I promise," he whispers.

* * *

><p>I reach up to rub at my eyelashes, which are coated in thick, black mascara, but Effie slaps my hand away.<p>

"Don't _touch_ it!" She complains. "You'll ruin the effect! Now stop fidgeting! You'll be on national television in under two minutes. Start acting like it."

I swallow nervously, but say nothing. Yes, I'll be on national television in about a minute and a half. No, I'm not thrilled about that. And yes, I know right now my outfit is much much less than I had expected. My eyes fall to where the dull gray skirt frills around my legs, almost at a length upon which I'd trip. I probably would, too, except for the fact that my heels are not deadly points, like Effie's heels, but wedge-shaped elevations, like my Opening Ceremony boots.

I didn't have time to look in the mirror when Cinna was finished. Effie had rushed in, shrieking that the interviews had been moved up an hour from where she had last heard they were, and that we had to leave at that instant. So an hour that would normally have been spent fretting over a strand of hair being out of place, or how badly I'll stumble on stage, was instead used to bustle from the Remake Center to the Square.

Inside the Square was a hastily-constructed building, a row of rooms, really, for us to stand in so that the people in the audience wouldn't see our outfits before the filming. Effie and I are waiting in the District Twelve room, with Pasquale and Theodore. Matrix is nowhere in sight, yet. Effie says he'll be here in seconds, but I can't believe her, and find myself desperately wondering what will happen if he doesn't come.

The front of the rooms are covered in one-way mirrors, so that we can see the audience, but they can't see us. I wish I could see myself in the glass. I want to know what my theme is. And the gigantic circular figure the prep team mentioned is there too, behind the audience, across from the stage. Caesar Flickerman starts with his atypical opening, the whole "Welcome to the 75th annual Hunger Games interviews," and the like, before he invites the tributes to join the stage with him.

A huge roar erupts from the crowd as soon as Gem and Pearl exit and take the stage, obviously followed by the other District One pair, and then the District Two pairs, and so on and so forth. My heart rate jumps to about a mile a minute, when I realize Matrix is still missing in action. I actually end up scratching off the top layer of the nail polish on one finger in my nervous fit. The black lacquer falls away, onto the ground before me, and reveals a shiny, almost mirror-like reflective coat beneath. I preoccupy myself with examining my distorted features in this surface, before Effie's hissing at Pasquale and Theodore, saying it's almost our turn.

Suddenly Matrix is beside me, his prep team not far behind, and all of them breathless with excitement. I have no time to look at his outfit either, because then the door before us opens wide, and people in black clothes are gesturing for us to come forward.

Pasquale and Theodore exit before us, and the blonde girl instantly pastes a winning smile on her face, waving at the audience as if they're all good friends she hasn't seen in a short while. Theodore just walks meekly after her, as if hoping he can melt into the floorboards. I'm with him there.

I can't see what Matrix is doing, since he's behind me, and I don't even know what I look like at the moment, but I put on a cheerful smile and wave at the audience like Pasquale. That's what all the tributes do, usually, before they take their seats. I almost stumble in the heels, but manage to maintain my balance until we reach the 47th and 48th black leather armchairs.

"Settle down, settle down," Caesar Flickerman laughs, making calming gestures to the audience. The uproar is still going, people holding signs of scores and tribute names, and pictures of my faces. I can't decide whether I should be pleased or upset that are at least six of me.

"Now- we've no time to waste! There are twice the interviews to be had this year, folks!" Caesar informs the audience. As if they didn't already know that. "So let's get right to it, and give a warm welcome to Pearl, from District One!"

Pearl rises from her chair, all the way at the end of the row, and I can now see what her outfit looks like. It's almost similar to her Opening Ceremonies look, but something is different. Instead of white, flowing angel robes, they're just white robes, and not so flowy. Rather, they're quite lacy and delicate, even though you can clearly see a short white dress beneath. Interestingly, she doesn't appear to have shoes on.

"Young lady," Caesar chuckles after shaking her hand, in front of the 47 of us. "I think I'll start by wondering what on Earth you're supposed to be wearing. It's gorgeous, really, but what is it?"

"Well my amazing stylist," Pearl starts, flashing a happy smile to where the stylists sit, on a platform before the stage, "Thought that since District One produces luxury goods, I should have an outfit based on the luxury bit of it- they're all sparkling clean. If something's not clean, it's not shipped, because it wouldn't be a luxury anymore, you'd have to wash it."

I stop myself after I realize I'm hanging onto her every word. The audience is as well, and it's then I gather she doesn't have a clue what she's saying. But her stylist has done so beautifully, I don't think too many people care.

The remainder of her interview is mostly the same wasted time- except the last sentence, in which she wishes good luck to her family back home while she's gone. In just the one moment -and perhaps it's just me- her face morphs into a mask of pain and longing, as if she's missing them, and hoping she really will come home to them soon.

Gem, Blondie, and a boy named Johnny, all from One, pass without much interest on my part. The audience of course is fawning over their every word, since it's the beginning of the interviews, and many of them are still interested. By the time it gets around to Blip, though, in a stunning glow-in-the-dark dragon-etched robe, many have gone to talking among themselves.

District Four elicits many laughs, but not much else. All interest seems to be gone, even though I know they really are still paying attention. The audience always gets restless after so long. Except usually, this is somewhere around District 8, not 4. The double-helping of tributes isn't helping our prospects any.

In District 5's four tributes, only two of them seem to really care. The first pair, the only name I can remember in which is Tint, the boy, seems very excited. In Six, one girl, Skeeter, seems very sly and silent, but I catch a very violent undertone to the words she's keeping relatively civil. Seven seems to have one of those ruthless-killing-machine-pairs, consisting of the two tributes I remember from the reaping, wearing matching green glasses. I learn this time around their names are Hans and Ariana.

Eight, Ten and Eleven hold no prospects, in my opinion, but in Nine I manage to recognize the brunette girl from the train- the one who got the 2 in training. She's playing up a mysterious act, so she doesn't tell Caesar why she got the score, or what she thinks of it. However I do find out her name is Pippin.

By the time Pasquale and Theodore's turns roll around, the audience is practically sleeping. It's been an hour or so already, so I can't say I blame them. I wouldn't mind falling asleep myself. The heat of the lights is radiating down heavily on me, and the fact that the leather chairs are hopelessly soft isn't helping much.

Pasquale tries going for cocky, but it doesn't work out too well. And I can tell from Katniss' furious expression from in the audience, it hadn't been her plan, either. Theodore on the other hand, tries going for meek and quiet. It works well for him, with his child's face and red cheeks. The tuxedo doesn't help, but nothing can be done for that now.

"Everyone, let's give a hand for Marina Valli!" Caesar shouts, and I freeze up.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** Hooray, for cliffhangers~! Haha I felt so bad about making you guys wait so long for the last chapter, I did another one up really quick. I'm so glad there are actually people still following this XD I was beginning to wonder if anyone had at all. But! I shall continue to post for the few of you who do still care. And if you really want to read the entire thing, I'd say you can probably just google Handcuffed: A Quarter Quell Story and click on one that's from Figment . com because that's the site this is posted on originally. And once you're there, it should be easy enough to figure out how to read. It's pretty simple. BUT! If you do that, drop a review either here or there to let me know if you liked it, yeah? Love you guys!


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N:** Okay, er, so this one's a little longer than the others. But, lol, I had to get you almost caught up. Couldn't help it being as long as it is. It was either this or leaving it at 5,000 or so words. You'll see. I meant to cut it off right when Portia says "we're here," so look out for that and thank me for NOT leaving you there. XD

* * *

><p>I stand, carefully, so that I don't trip on the way up, or trod on the hem of my dress. While making my way over to Caesar, with his bubblegum pink hair and lips, I notice something I hadn't noticed before. There's a giant screen showing the entire Square what's happening on stage right now- and that is me, walking across the stage.<p>

If I hadn't seen my face made up before Cinna put me in my dress, I never would have guessed the beautiful, tall girl in the billowing, smoky gray dress was in fact myself. I am not fire, I am not an ember. I am smoke itself, beautiful and graceful and curling and swirling, as if a wisp of the stuff itself has clothed me and sent me here in Marina Valli's place, to make a better impression than I could have.

The dress has a huge slit up my right leg, spanning from the bottom of the fabric to my upper thigh, and ending with a casually tied off black ribbon. It swirls around my legs as I walk, but surprisingly doesn't catch on the shoes. The wedge-heels are attached to my feet with only ribbons, wrapped around and around my legs, that tie off just below my knees. The top of the dress isn't too low, though, balancing out the high-cut of the slit in the dress. It comes up to just below my collarbone, and then angles down to cut out one sleeve entirely, but leaves the other in a tight-fitting black velvet spanning my entire arm, wrapping around my middle finger to stay in place.

My eyes give the impression of being writhing smoke themselves, what with the heavy eye shadow and mascara, and every time I take a step, I can see more clearly how my hair has been styled. It isn't in its usual straight style, just placed down my back. Rather, it's been made wavy, and tied off loosely near the bottom, giving it a whimsical, airy look.

By the time I finally reach Caesar Flickerman, my confidence has swelled immensely, and I shake his hand with an excited sort of bubbly energy. I think he catches onto my mood, and his eyes twinkle in the light of flashing cameras from the audience.

"Well," he says loudly, eyeing my dress. "Don't you look stunning?"

"Thank you," I laugh, blushing furiously. "It's gorgeous, I know. I haven't even gotten the chance to look at it until now."

"Whyever not?" Caesar asks, in mock seriousness. "Were they afraid you'd faint for lack of oxygen? I know I almost did," he says, addressing the audience, which cheers and claps loudly. "Beautiful, and with a high score!"

I smile winningly, and nod. I probably look ridiculous and quite clueless... but I really can't think of another thing to do at the moment.

"A ten," Caesar whistles. "That's a pretty high feat, for a District Twelve, if you don't mind me saying! Even though Katniss got higher last year," he adds, gesturing to her in the crowd.

As the searchlights focus on her, I can see her quickly wipe the disgusted expression from her face, and replace it with a smile for the cameras, and she grasps Peeta's hand. She waves the cameras away quickly enough though, and then the attention is all back on me.

"I don't mind you saying," I manage to laugh. "And I know. I can't believe I did so well! I was honestly expecting a two or three."

This talk is going nowhere, and I think Caesar knows it as well as I do. We discuss how I never would have gotten a score that low, as good as I look, and then he changes the topic.

"Now Marina," he says confidentially, leaning in a little closer to me. "I think I won't be the only person wondering- what exactly is going on between you and that handsome young man?" The spotlights swerve over to Matrix for a moment, hesitate, and then swing back to us.

"Nothing," I say hastily, perhaps a little too hastily. A deep blush envelops my face, and I can feel the burn in my cheeks as the Capitol audience laughs at my discomfort. "I mean, we're partners, is all. We both want to win, so we can go back to our families."

"Speaking of families..." he says, going off the ending of my sentence, although not before winking at the audience. "That little girl you volunteered for, Rosabelle, wasn't it? She was Matrix's sister, if I'm not incorrect."

"Yes, she was," I agree. "I'm just..." I stop. What am I to her? Friends? Probably. Closer than that, though... I'm not sure. I know I wasn't exactly friends with Matrix before this all, and not Delly, but Rosabelle, yes. How do I explain this situation on national television, without broaching the topic of my faked illness?

"Friends with Matrix, so you volunteered for her?" Caesar suggests, sensing my hesitation.

"No, actually, I wasn't," I chuckle weakly. "I'd only seen him around, before then. Rosabelle and I were... friends, I suppose, distantly. But I was planning to volunteer anyway, just so it would be me and not someone else, going in."

"That's an interesting outlook," Caesar mutters, clearly grasping at straws, now. I know he's trying to help me win sponsors here, but I really don't want to share my life's story on national television. Not now. Maybe if I get stuck with a spear and I'm dying. "So someone else wouldn't have to? Why give up yourself like that, if you clearly thought you didn't have a chance at winning?"

"Well..." I say, then hesitate. "I think it was because I didn't want someone else to end up going through all this just to die, if they have families to take care of, and jobs to go to, and futures to have. I just felt... I would rather it were me, who didn't really know what to do with my life, than someone else, who already had things in motion. I wanted to make sure someone else got to live their life."

The buzzer goes off mere seconds after my answer is out of my mouth, and then the audience groans in complaint. I shake Caesar's hand once more, and then go back to my seat, leaving Matrix to be called up.

I think I've done well, though. The self-sacrifice card should play out well for me... and I silently thank my brain for its ability to make things up while under pressure. It's true, and yet... I never would have thought of my volunteering as being used as a card to get sponsors.

* * *

><p>Matrix actually looks exceedingly handsome in a black satin suit, complete with a matching black satin shirt and bowtie. His hair is impeccably smooth, unusually so even for him, and its coal-black color only adds to the effect. The look as a whole is classy, but extremely simple. I'm surprised this is all he's wearing, these being the interviews.<p>

Unlike myself, Matrix is clearly coal-themed. While I'm the after-product of fire, he's the before. I think Cinna and Portia set this up especially after Haymitch's revelation about our theme idea the other day. It makes sense, after all.

Coal and smoke. Both technically the same chemical make-up, but in different forms. Even though the two don't mix, they essentially match. And what's in between coal and smoke? Fire. Really hot, occasionally passionate, fire.

Yes, this was planned. I make a mental note to slap someone upside the head once I figure out whose idea it was, and if the audience interpreted it as such or not.

"So Matrix," Caesar says casually, draping an arm over his shoulder. "Your theme. Explain? I think I'm missing something."

"Honestly, I'm not sure," Matrix half-sighs, half-chuckles. "I think I'm coal. And at least three times too exhausted to be here at the moment."

The audience laughs at his honest evaluation of the situation, clearly not grasping how much work we actually do have to get done before even coming to the interviews.

"Fatigue aside," Caesar says, grinning. "What's been going on in that bedroom of yours?"

There are a few wolf-whistles from the audience, and my own face burns red again.

"Uh, I don't know what you mean," Matrix laughs. "Other than sleeping. It's harder work than you think, being a tribute."

"Yes, yes, assuming you actually sleep," Caesar continues, unfazed. "But there are rumors going around that each pair shares a room. True?"

"True," Matrix allows, grinning. "But I'm not exactly on a quest to get some."

The majority of the audience howls with laughter, until Caesar continues over them, clearly desperate to get something out of him to make this ending memorable. "You can't tell me you haven't had any attraction to that lovely lady," he scoffs. "Come on. We won't tell anyone," he jokes.

"Well when you put it that way," Matrix says smoothly, sounding almost as though he's been convinced to share our most intimate interactions. The largest of which has been a kiss under an apple tree. "No, still no. I told you, we sleep," he sighs exasperatedly, but there's still a grin playing on his lips.

"What about those pictures from the train station, then?" Caesar inquires, bringing up an image of Matrix cradling me in his arms, back in District Twelve, at the station. "There was _nothing_ there?"

"No, sorry to disappoint you," Matrix chuckles, but even from behind, and watching the screen, I can see his faint blush. I hope the audience can as well. This can only help our approach. "We don't actually get along all that well, you see," he snorts.

Caesar gasps disbelievingly, and I think most of the audience does as well, before he can continue. "Why ever is that? You two are almost identical! Brave, strong, attractive, clearly somewhat sarcastic..." The audience laughs, interrupting his monologue. "But in all seriousness, _why_?"

"I don't know," Matrix shrugs, and I look down. This might be honest. Whatever next exits his mouth might be complete honestly. The night he slapped me comes back to me full force, and I can feel my cheeks burning with anger. I don't want to listen to whatever it is he has to say.

Apparently, I'm not granted the reprieve. His next words reach my ears before I can put up a mental barrier.

"I think it has a lot to do with the fact that she wound up in my bed, our first night in the Capitol," he grins cheekily.

My mouth falls open in protest, and my blush flares even brighter than it had before, if that is possible. The way he said that-! It makes it sound as though I went and had_ sex_ with him our first night here! But I did no such thing. I am not like those girls who just do whatever with whomever!

I can't even stand to sit here any longer, as all the cameras flash towards my face. A blinding white light engulfs my chair, one I identify as the spotlights. My heart rate leaps past a mile a minute, and starts going about two-hundred miles a minute. A reddish film seeps into my vision, before quickly fading away, replaced by the stinging sensation that accompanies tears.

I stand, desperate to be free of the negative attention, and run as quickly as the heels permit back across the stage, towards the District Twelve room. I bunch the left side of the dress up and hold it above my knees so that I don't trip over it while I run, and I try to stem the quickly-increasing flow of tears pouring out of my eyes.

The door swings open at my push, and I throw myself inside, before slamming it shut behind myself, and locking the deadbolt. I watch Caesar Flickerman take a few hesitant steps toward the one-way glass I stand behind. Every single tribute is watching where I disappeared to, their eyes glued to either this panel of the glass or the one on the other side of the door. I think Matrix is looking on in dismay, but I can hardly tell it's him, let alone that his expression shows regret.

Unable to stand watching them watch me any longer, I cross to the other door, one that leads to an underground hallway in which we entered, and lock that door as well. I'm perfectly content to sit in here and cry until the Games tomorrow, and die of thirst. Anything is less painful than this false accusation.

* * *

><p>"Marina, honey?" Effie's voice coos through the crack in the door leading to the underground hallway. "You need to come out. The Games are tomorrow, and if you don't let us in, we can always just..."<p>

"No you can't, you told me yourself, the doors can't be penetrated," I call, leaning back against it, and idly rubbing at the mascara streaks running down my face. "You can come get me tomorrow morning. I think that's about how long it'll take them to get an industrial chain saw in here,"

I can hear her growl in exasperation, but she gives up as well. I can tell by the sharp clicking of her five-inch heels with the talons. So far, she's the third to try and extricate me from my hidden abode. In the fifteen minutes I've been in here.

I have no desire to leave this room. I'll leave just as soon as they force me to. Matrix's inference left my mind reeling, and I don't think it's stopped spinning yet. If it had, it would probably be telling me sensible things, like how I need to sleep, and eat good food, and drink lots of water. Right now all I want to do is sit, cry, and be senseless until my name fades from the face of the planet, along with its newly-tarnished reputation.

I shift my foot in an awkward position, and the black rubber heel pushes my ankle uncomfortably. Pushing myself up, I take a seat in the chair beside the one-way glass windows, and work to untie the ribbons keeping my feet in the wedges. It takes a little longer than it normally might, I think because Cinna had Venia double-knotted the bow.

I bite my tongue in concentration as my fingers fly to untie the dark ribbons, and feel blood gush from the still-sensitive muscle after another moment of struggling with the lacing. I cry out in pain quietly, and cease both the biting and the untying as tears spring to my eyes. What did I do to deserve this? I never did anything wrong to him. Nothing that wasn't forgivable. But this? This is too far beyond forgiving. It's in everyone's minds, now. You can't just say you're sorry for what everyone else is thinking.

"Rina," a familiar voice calls hesitantly through the door. "Rina, I'm sorry..."

I can't stand the tone of his voice. The apparent remorse, the longing for forgiveness, the pain. "Don't," I snarl. "Don't say that to me."

"Please..." Matrix pleads.

"No," I manage to shout, filling the one syllable with every ounce of pain and anger I possibly can. The tears start flowing again, and it's all I can do not to let a sob escape my lips.

I can hear his soft footsteps retreating slowly down the hallway, and finally I'm left to myself. The sob that had been strangling my throat before works its way out, and a low groan accompanies more tears and mucus.

I couldn't gauge the time if I had wanted to, but I know by the time I've cried myself dry, the audience has gone from the square. Their chatter is no longer audible through the door, and most of the lights have gone out. One thing does register in my mind, though. The circular figure the prep team was talking about... I missed the unveiling of whatever it was. More curious than upset by this point, I manage to pull the wedges off my feet without untying the fancy black ribbons, and I go over to the one-way glass.

The stage looks forlorn and empty, now that the audience is gone, and lights are off. But there is a faint red glowing reflection upon the glassy black flooring that I can't identify. I follow it's trajectory across the shining marble tile beneath, to where the circular construction stands.

My mouth instantly drops open wide. It's enormous. And a Bull's Eye. Seems I was correct about this year's theme. The thing has five rings, three red and two white, and it appears to be a gigantic television screen. It's the biggest I've ever seen, though- it has to be larger than some _buildings_ here in the Capitol.

I only know it's a screen because in the center, there is a timer going- labeled, "A countdown to the Games," in bright blue letters. Right now, it says "14:47:13," with other numbers counting down too quickly to relay for milliseconds. I have 14 hours, 47 minutes, and 13- make that 12- seconds until I'll be in the arena. Fighting for my life. With a boy whom I might very possibly hate chained to my wrist.

My eyes stop following the millisecond timer as I notice something else. My face is shown just above the minutes section of the timer. _What?_

There's a double-image of Matrix and I, our faces just the generic pictures they took during training the first day, inside the center of the Bull's Eye target. Beside our pictures are those of Gem and Pearl, and beneath the timer are those of the District Two tributes with the odd hair, and the District Seven pair with the matching glasses.

On the ring outside that are the pictures of four tribute pairs, of which I notice Frog and Sky, and the rest of the District One and Two pairs. The ring outside that contains five more, outside that has five more, and the outermost ring has six pairs including the pictures of the girl from District Nine, and Pasquale and Theodore.

I stare uncomprehendingly at the monumental screen for a few moments longer, before grasping what it means. A dartboard is in the shape of a Bull's Eye, the center being the target. Our pictures are in the center. Which means... the Capitol is rating us one of the top four tribute pairs? According to some words I can barely read at the bottom of the outer ring, I discover the Capitol audience has voted just after the interviews on an overall rating, for which tributes they think have the best chance of winning.

We're in the top four? My mind repeats, unable to comprehend this. We can't be. I've trained for only a few months for this, and the Careers... their whole lives. How did this happen?

"Marina?" A very different voice calls, surprisingly from the other side of the one-way glass.

Caesar Flickerman steps into view of the glass just a second later, peering into it as though he would be able to see me through it.

"Can I have a word?" he wonders, flashing a gentle smile.

"Well you've already had six, you might as well continue," I snap, rather broodily.

And of course I've no reason to be angry at Caesar, he was just doing his job. No, I'm not mad at him. I'm just mad he didn't discount Matrix's accusation instantly, saying how wrong he must be, that I'd never do that. But of course, he doesn't know me, does he?

"Yes, I suppose I have," he chuckles. "I just wanted to talk to you about the interview. Is that alright?"

"Fine," I mutter, loud enough so that he can hear me. I try and calm myself a little- I don't exactly want to make a bad impression on him, since he'll be commentating on my performance in the arena later on.

"What Matrix said..." he starts, a little hesitantly, leaning his back against the glass and crossing his arms.

"Wasn't true!" I exclaim, and I find to my own dismay my voice has risen an octave or two in frustration. "I never-!"

"There is no doubt in my mind you haven't," Caesar assures me, his voice oddly calming. "If you say it didn't happen, it didn't happen. Alright?"

No, Caesar. Actually, it sounds like you're trying to get me to calm down. But alright, fine. Let's play this out as though I'm nine years old. I'll calm down for a moment or two.

"Fine," I say, managing to keep the fury out of my tone.

"I didn't have the time to get Matrix to explain exactly what he meant," Caesar begins rather unhelpfully. "But I would have if I could, darling. You know how it is. Everything has to be on time in the Capitol."

I pause for just a moment before snapping back at him. _"You know how it is. Everything has to be on time in the Capitol."_ So we're not the only ones forced into tight schedules and uncomfortable places, by the tone of his voice. "I know," I murmur.

"Then you should also know," he adds, turning to face the glass so that I can see his expression. He's extremely serious, all of a sudden. "That you're going into the arena tomorrow morning, no matter how much sleep you've gotten, or where. And they will get you out of there in time for the Games, if that's what this is about."

"It's not," I sigh. "I know I'm in the Games. That's not going to change. I just wish I could have a little more time, to smooth this out before I go in with him."

"Something tells me you'll work it out," Caesar assures me, smiling sweetly. "He cares about you more than you think."

"Oh don't give me that..." I start to complain before he cuts me off.

"Don't give you that?" he laughs. "I talked to him for an hour after the show was over. He's upset it came across like that, Marina. He didn't mean it. He's truly sorry."

"Yes, well if sorry could erase a nation's memory, we'd be fine," I growl. "Too bad it can't."

Caesar lets out a short, cheerful laugh, before starting up again. "Marina, you are a gem, do you know that? I don't know where they found you in District Twelve. And here I was thinking you were all uncut stones. Where _do_ you get your philosophies?"

"Myself?" I say, uncertain of what he means. "I don't know. I do what's right by me, when my temper doesn't get the better of me. That's all."

"Well keep doing that," he says, almost reverently. "It's working marvelously. And may I say, after your dramatic exit on stage tonight, _everyone_ is wondering what's going on between you two. The look on Matrix's face really gave the fact that he'd been joking away, if you ask me."

"Do you think?" I ask hesitantly.

"Yes, certainly." Caesar says enthusiastically. "Why else would you two have made the top four, if you'll pardon my saying? That ending was fantastic!"

"Fantastic for you maybe," I sigh, but it's interrupted by a yawn. It's late. Very, very late. And tomorrow I will enter the arena. I severely need sleep.

My fatigued fingers reach for the doorknob, and I unlock it before opening it hesitantly. Caesar is still standing there, looking out across the stage, but he looks over as I open the door.

"Oh, your makeup..." he laughs. "It's..."

"A mess," I finish, sighing and brushing a strand of hair behind my ear. "Yes, I know. Crying will do that to a person."

"Well come on then," Caesar laughs, draping an arm around my shoulder in a very companion-like manner. He leads me back into the District Twelve room, and then unlocks the door into the underground hallway, holding the door for me. "Let's get you all cleaned up and into bed."

A small, relieved cheer goes up as I peer out into the corridor, and I find it's come from Effie, Katniss and Peeta, and surprisingly Haymitch and Cinna.

"Good luck tomorrow, Marina," Caesar says, with a hug, before passing me over to my companions. "And may the odds be ever in your favor."

* * *

><p>May the odds be ever in my favor. I think they'll need to be, for me to be able to not strangle Matrix upon sight.<p>

Thankfully though, they do seem to be. I don't see my partner at all before I reach the room. Haymitch and Effie are both complaining about the loss of time this has caused, but I know only Effie means it. Haymitch seems to be more worried about whether or not Matrix's accusation is true.

Cinna gets Effie to leave after a few more minutes, when he notices I'm worked up to the point where I honestly might explode. Then it's the three victors and myself in the hallway, and Peeta mutters something about checking in on Pasquale and Theodore before shuffling out.

"Well?" Katniss asks, a little sharply. "Was that planned, or did it just happen that way?"

"Definitely not planned," Haymitch huffs. "I don't know what they boy was thinking. I don't know what _you_ were thinking!"

"I was thinking," I start, deliberately making my voice bitter. "I didn't like all of Panem staring at me as though I'd had sex with Matrix."

There's a heavy moment of silence, in which I think I can feel the air drop a degree. It's broken when Haymitch next speaks.

"You didn't, did you?" he demands quietly.

"No," I sigh, and the tears start pouring silently down my face again. "How can you even say that? After what he..."

"Oh sweetheart," Haymitch mutters, taking me into his arms for a hug. "It'll get better, I promise. Nobody will believe him if you say you didn't do it."

"Rina," Katniss starts hesitantly. "If you win, this won't even be an issue. As a victor, they mostly forget about your interviews and such. Just say you didn't do it when you have a spare moment on camera in the arena, and you're in the clear. I promise."

"Oh yeah, that'll work," I murmur, a sour note clearly detectable in my voice.

"It will," she says, more fiercely now. "Trust me. There's a camera on you almost every moment you're in there, and especially once the numbers get down to 10, and then even more so at 8 or 4. What you say on camera is extremely tangible. If you want to say something, that would be the time to say it. If you're not sure, definitely don't. It's that fragile a balance."

"She's right," Haymitch agrees, after a moment of quiet. "And another thing- GO TO BED," he growls. "I'm not having you falling asleep during the bloodbath. Get some rest. Matrix is on the couch tonight anyway."

I nod, smiling a little at the sudden change in topic. He's right- I do need sleep. And as much of it as I can get, seeing as I'll be in the arena in what, 13 hours now? I bid them both goodnight and enter the dark room. I'm not going to take a shower- there's no point. But I do strip out of the flowy dress and pull on a soft cotton night dress.

I opt against using the blankets tonight. The other night's incident with the doll nightmare really shouldn't be repeated. Besides, the nightgown is just as warm. Not that I'll be cold in the heated Capitol bedroom.

My mind drifts as soon as I close my eyes, first to Matrix's apology and the look on his face after my fleeing the stage. My heart gives an agonized, hopeful little leap inside my chest, and I know it's useless. No matter how worked up I make myself over this, I'll forgive him for it anyway.

I just can't get away from this boy. My heart seems to have attached itself to him, and is refusing to let go. No matter how angry I get at him, no matter how badly he hurts me, I just keep coming back. And he keeps taking me back. But what is he really?

You could say he's damaged goods. That I'm wasting my time, since he's probably not in full capacity of his mental facilities. Or that he's toying with me, and that I need to give this up. After all, we'll be going into the arena in a few hours.

The arena. The thought doesn't frighten me, rather, it fascinates me just a little. I'll be in the arena. On live television for my mother and father to watch. I wonder if Prim and Mrs. Everdeen will watch me compete as well. But of course they will. They watched Katniss, didn't they? They must watch me. What are they thinking of all of this?

The other aspect of my fascination with the arena is quite unrelated- it has to do with Matrix. What will he do once inside the different environment? When confronted by others, in a combatant-like manner? It's a disturbing possibility, but one I must prepare for nonetheless. I haven't really seen him in a violent environment before- perhaps it'll break him in ways I can't imagine, in a mental sense. If so, what do I do then?

My rumination is interrupted by a familiar rumbling- my stomach. I chuckle a little at its lousy timing, as usual. Groaning a little at my having to move, I accept my body's demand for nourishment, and rise from my bed slowly. I stretch once before starting on my midnight expedition to the kitchens. After all, I think I missed both lunch and dinner for the interviews. The Capitol chefs shouldn't miss a tub of ice cream or two.

* * *

><p>"Goodbye Effie, Haymitch, I love you!" I call, as we rush across the rooftop to the hovercraft waiting there. Cinna has my hand in his, and he laughs as I try to fit in my all-too-late goodbyes before we board. "Thank you, Katniss, Peeta!" I add, as an afterthought. "Tell my mother I love her!"<p>

"I will," Katniss promises, waving to the eight of us -including Pasquale and Theodore's stylists- with what I can only guess are tears in her eyes.

"Good luck, sweetheart!" Haymitch calls. "And Matrix, watch those hands of yours! I'll kill you myself if the rest of them don't!"

I manage to laugh a little, before Cinna's pulling me up the stairs of the craft, and I blow my team one kiss goodbye, more for my own sake than theirs. I can't begin to describe the anxiety roiling around in my chest. It's worse, so much worse than the interview anxiety.

I take a seat beside Cinna, and Matrix takes the one across from me, Portia beside him. But as soon as I reach for a glass of water, on the table between us, my body freezes up, as though an electric current were running through my veins. Perhaps it is.

A lady in a white coat comes out of a door I hadn't seen earlier, with two needles in her hands. She smiles warmly, but I don't like the look of the needle while combined with the coat. She crosses over to where I sit, assuring me that this is just my tracker, so that the cameras can find me in the arena.

The jab of the needle is painful, but I know it's probably better I can't move to smack her hand away. Thinking about the pain in my arm at least keeps my mind off other things. Like the previous night.

I encountered Matrix on my way back from the kitchen, after forgetting he had been asleep on the couch. We talked for probably a half an hour, before everything was fixed. Again. But the topic of the interviews is still impalpable.

Another twenty minutes or so pass in silence, during which Matrix and I gain our motion again. I take to looking out the window behind me, not really wanting to discuss what we'll do once we're in the launch rooms.

The trees flit past beneath us almost as quickly as they did on the train, but these all are so different. I could almost think we were on another planet, if I didn't know better. Some of these trees, I've never seen or heard of before. Most of them are long brown stalks, with rugged bark, and five or six deep green leaves on top like a fern.

It's when the trees start becoming sparse, and I start to see patches of sand on the ground that I get nervous. I've heard beaches have sand rather than grass... and with beaches are oceans. It's _not_ an underwater arena, is it?

The longer I look, the more it seems the sun is fading away. I squint harder, trying to get my bearings again, until the image completely disappears.

"Are we almost there already?" Matrix asks incredulously.

I look up towards him. The windows are indeed, already growing darkly tinted. I'm relieved it's not my vision. "Is that possible?" I ask Cinna.

"Well it could happen, I suppose," Cinna muses, looking out the windows before all vision is obscured. "The arena doesn't have to be far away from the Capitol."

"Yes, it could be near one of the Districts," Portia agrees. "And that would explain why they let us leave so late, this year. Less travel time."

Yes, she has a point. We left only a little after 7. Thankfully, that meant I got 6 hours of sleep after my conversation with Matrix in the other room. I don't know if it's normal to be able to get sleep the night before the Games, my being a tribute, but I'm guessing not. Then again, it's relatively normal for me. The night before the Reaping, I wasn't nervous at all.

"I hate this," Matrix murmurs, barely loud enough for me to hear. "I don't want to kill anyone."

"Not the place," Cinna mutters, pasting a smile on his face to cover the moment. Louder, he continues, "Matrix, if you had wanted more hot chocolate, you should have asked at breakfast this morning."

Matrix just nods, silently thanking Cinna for the cover-up.

"Oh, we have your bracelets," Portia exclaims, reaching for her shoulder bag. "They're your District tokens, right?"

"Yes," I breathe in relief. I'd forgotten. Again. Well, at least Portia hadn't.

Cinna takes my bracelet out of his pocket, and helps me attach it to my right wrist. I examine the thing carefully, as if waiting to see if it will change before my eyes. It doesn't though, and instead of thinking about what we'll encounter upon landing, I go to counting each of the little silvery studs.

It's surprisingly busying. I hate multiplication, and want to waste time, so I go about counting them one by one. There are three rows, with sixteen studs along each row. 48. The same number of tributes that will be in the arena. My stomach roils unhappily, but I know Rosabelle couldn't have known to make 48 studs. Couldn't have known this year there would be double tributes. But it makes me uneasy nonetheless.

"We're here," Portia whispers, as the hovercraft dips, and we can feel the ground approaching.

* * *

><p>I step off the hovercraft first, down the little red-carpeted stairs they lower for us. I can't help but look around curiously, only to be disappointed as I realize we're in some sort of hangar. The room is just a white dome, and there are about 15 other hovercraft around our own.<p>

Well, at least we're not last.

In fact, I think we're about in the middle, as far as arrival times go. Directly across from where I stand, there are two very large bodyguard-type men, and nine Avoxes, in their startlingly clean robes. Each of them though, has a colored band on one shoulder. I can't decipher what it means, but I know they won't be able to tell me, and nobody else will want to, so I brush the thought from my mind.

Matrix steps down next to me then, and intertwines his hand in mine. "Nervous yet?" he asks.

"Not really," I sigh. "I almost wish I was. I know this'll hit me full force once we're in the arena."

"Don't worry," he grins. "I'll make sure you don't go crazy."

Yes, the boy with the disorder telling me he won't let _me_ go crazy. That'll work out well. "Well that's encouraging," I mutter, but I add a smile to take the sting out of my sarcasm.

"Come on you two," Portia says, taking Matrix's arm and starting for the cluster of Avoxes.

Cinna takes my hand in his, and smiles gently down at me before we follow the other two across the hangar.

The Avoxes move aside to let us pass to where the two black-clad men stand, and they both glare down at us. I instantly decide to dub them Thing One and Thing Two.

"District?" Thing One asks.

"District Twelve," Portia says calmly.

"Stylists aren't allowed in," Thing Two states. "You'll have to stay here. Only District tokens allowed in. Nothing else."

"The Avox will be your guide," Thing One adds, gesturing to a brunette standing behind me. The band on her arm is black.

Matrix and I nod, before turning back to our stylists.

"Cinna..." I start. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," He smiles. "You were wonderful. I have full confidence in you, Marina."

"Thank you," I repeat, throwing my arms around him. He laughs, and returns my hug, before loosening my arms from around him, and giving my back a little push.

"Go on, Legs," he says, utilizing Matrix's nickname for me.

I grin, before joining Matrix with our Avox.

Thing One and Thing Two push open the gigantic brown doors behind them, and the Avox leads us through them, before they slam shut quickly, blocking our view of the stylists for good. She instantly starts down the pristine white hallway, and takes the last left.

Matrix and I have to walk a little faster than usual to keep up with her, but we don't stop her to ask where she's leading us. Firstly, because we both know where she's leading us, we just don't want to think about it. Secondly, because Effie's said before that it's simply not done- people aren't supposed to talk to Avoxes unless they have an order to give.

Finally, she stops, and the marble floor loses its previous echoing footsteps sound. We catch up to her, and she enters a code in a black panel in the wall. The wall beside the panel slides open, and she gestures for us to step inside.

Her brown hair swishes as she steps in after myself, and the panel closes quickly enough behind her. I peer around the room expectantly, but certainly not of what I'm seeing. This room is... so similar it's startling.

It's exactly the same as our room in the Training Center. Right down to the lamps on the bedside tables. Except this one doesn't have windows- the curtains appear to be made of steel. And the floor... There's a large circular rise, that appears to be made of some sort of industrial metal, complete with the diamond-shaped bumps and yellow caution tape ringing the edge.

Matrix crosses over to the closet, while asking the Avox, "Our outfits are in here?"

She nods, but apparently he's found them already, because an amused laugh escapes his lips once he's out of sight.

"What is it?" I ask, curious, stepping over the raised platform and to the closet beside him.

"These outfits..." he trails off, pulling something dark off a hanger and holding it up for me to see.

It appears to be a black tank top, made of a stretchy action-based material. There are little holes throughout the length, for breathing, I suppose, but the neck is a little low.

He fluidly strips off his shirt and vest in one motion, and has the black shirt on in another. It looks painfully tight around the chest, and dips ridiculously low, revealing far more of his pecs than a regular tank top should have. Of course it's not an unpleasant sight, but I know there's something a little off.

I lean back into the closet as he starts examining himself in the mirror beside him, and choking out in between gasps of laughter, how tightly it fits. The closet is dark, but I can see well enough to make out the fact that there is one complete outfit there, stacked neatly.

You'd think there were two outfits there, the piles were so high, but after examining a rather thick one that appears to be two sweatshirts, I notice they're identical. It's then that my eyes rove to the other side of the closet, where another shelf sits. I reach across it, and find what I'm looking for with a chuckle.

"Matrix," I laugh, "I think you're wearing mine," I say, brandishing the same tank in a much larger size, with a higher dip in the collar.

"Oh," he says, looking down, horrified.

* * *

><p>It takes about ten minutes for us to remove my tank top from Matrix's torso, and another five to figure out whose clothes are whose. After that, changing is a piece of cake. I take the closet, and Matrix changes outside, while the Avox girl stands watching a wall.<p>

The complete outfit consists of three layers and sturdy, nylon-like boots that lace up almost to my knees, with thick rubber soles. The knee-high socks are waterproof, I know because they're a semi-rubbery material woven tightly together. I don't doubt their ability to hold water, were it poured inside.

Above the footwear is a pair of deep brown canvas pants, in a thick, slightly padded material, with dark green splotches along the length. Matrix says it's for camouflage, but all I get out of it is annoyance. The pockets are all obscenely small, except for one on my left hip. That won't help me at all though, because I'll have Matrix attached to my left wrist. I can hardly reach into a pocket with handcuffs on, were Matrix to reach in another direction.

The undergarments are a clean, cotton black, with a matching action bra, the kind that supports rather than shows. Above that is the black tank- the second one. Matrix had damaged the other one beyond repair by ripping about half of the seams while we pulled it back over his shoulders. It keeps trying to bunch up above my stomach though, since my hips are so pronounced, so after a minute of struggling with the black material, trying to make it stay at my waist, I give up, and let it scrunch where my waist thins; above my hips, and below my chest.

The next layer is the same brown and green pattern as the pants- a warm fleecy sweatshirt, with a hood. It reminds me of my mother's hooded leather jacket, and I take a few minutes just to hug it to myself, and I plead with my eyes not to let the tears that form there leak down my face.

The last layer conveniently folds and fits in my sweatshirt's zipper pocket- a rain slicker, in a deep blue color. It's big enough to cover my entire body, were I curled in a ball, and also say, a backpack, were I to acquire one.

There are also two hair ties, with a miniature page torn from a rulebook, stating that each female tribute is allowed one standard tie for their hair, and one as an extra in case the first should be broken. Instinctively, I pull all of the hair on top of my scalp, and twist both bands around the mop of straight black hair tightly. It feels almost like home, until I remember exactly where I am.

I exit the closet only to find Matrix already dressed, sitting on what would have been his bed, were we actually in the room in the Training Center. He pats the comforter beside him, gesturing me to sit down. I observe a plate of fruits and vegetables on the bedside table that hadn't been there before, and notice the Avox girl is gone, but say nothing. I take the seat beside him, and he instantly wraps his arms around my shoulders.

The motion startles me, but I quickly get over it and place my own arms around his body. This is it. I don't know exactly when, but sometime soon, very soon, we'll be going into that arena, and killing people. I suppose now the nerves will start to kick in.

"Legs," Matrix says, pulling back, but intertwining his fingers in mine, probably for comfort. "No matter what happens in there..."

"Yeah?" I prod encouragingly, as he hesitates.

"No matter what happens, remember that I love you..." he continues.

My breath catches in my throat. He loves me? He does love me after all? After all of this?

"Like that third sister I never wanted," he finishes, grinning.

All the air deflates from inside me like a balloon released into the air. My heart sinks as though someone's just attached a million-pound anchor to it, and it's now bursting through the Earth's core and out the other side. Like a sister. Right.

"Oh," I manage to get out, and force a somewhat-convincing chuckle. "Me too."

He raises an eyebrow.

"As a brother, I mean," I hastily add, and he grins.

We sit in silence for another few moments, during which I remove my hand from his, and idly twist the bracelet around my wrist. It's a nervous habit, and I'm nervous he'll catch onto my hesitation before responding to his jibe. Well, part of it is also that I'm a little mad he doesn't return my feelings. As unfair as that is.

"How many studs are on your bracelet?" he says suddenly, banishing the silence.

"48," I reply, and I'm a little dismayed to find that even to myself, my voice sounds uninterested. "Why?"

"48 studs, 48 tributes," he says matter-of-factly. "We might as well use them, to keep track of how far we get."

"What do you mean?" I ask, startled by his logic.

"Every time someone dies, we take a stud off the bracelet," he says, pointing at his own for emphasis. "That way if we don't win, they'll know how far we got."

"That's what the television is for," I point out, but let him have his idea. "But I guess it makes sense."

"You know Legs," Matrix says, abruptly serious. "The other night, when I said I promised we would get home..."

"Yeah?" I ask.

"I meant it. Really. I'm going to get you home to your mom, and Katniss and Peeta, and..." he drops off. "And maybe we can talk more, after this."

"That would be nice," I murmur, taking his hand in mine again with a little sigh.

Well, at least there's hope for the future, assuming I have one. Assuming one of the other 46 studs on this bracelet doesn't kill me before I can remove each of them. Assuming I can remove any at all.

* * *

><p>Matrix and I move to talking about simple things after that. A shared elementary school teacher, classmates' antics, even what our own tours of the mines were like. Then to what we know about the forest and hunting. He knows much more than myself. But by the time we've exhausted most of our chit-chat topics, he finds something interesting to talk about.<p>

"The material in the pants is wool," he says suddenly. "The inside, anyway. It's refined though, so it shouldn't get itchy. I think the outside is just canvas."

"How do you know that?" I laugh.

"Tailor's son, remember?" he sighs. "I had to take countless lessons on how to sew this and that and which fabrics were for what, only to not use any of it because I ended up going to school. My mom didn't bother training me though, we all knew I'd be terrible at being a cobbler. I think Delly was aiming for that after she graduated."

"Going to school?" I ask, startled. "Then when were these lessons?"

"Oh, I was probably about five," he says casually. "But as a five year old, textbooks and essays are a lot more fun than learning every type of cotton and cashmere. The likes of which we never even get to sew, anyway."

"Really?" I laugh.

"Really," he confirms gravely. "I was an unhappy five-year-old."

"I can imagine," I agree, leaning my head against his shoulder.

The silence this time around is welcome- and more welcome when Matrix starts stroking my hair softly. I can almost feel the air between us heating up when the door opens again.

The brunette Avox steps in again, exactly as a female voice buzzes over an intercom, "Ten minutes to launch," and then shuts off.

I sit up, startled into movement, and instantly notice the Avox girl is holding a white box.

"The handcuffs?" Matrix asks quietly, and she nods.

We both exchange grim looks before clasping hands and standing, crossing to the table across the room where she puts the box down to open it. I step up just behind her, only to observe one of the single most bizarre objects I've ever seen.

Or perhaps two of the single most bizarre objects I've ever seen. There are two of them, even though they're attached. And Matrix was right- they're not your generic metal cuffs.

These are two very industrial-strength-looking white plastic cuffs, with light green rims on the inside, made of what looks like rubber or a soft fabric. It's round, though, like a donut pastry, except for the inside. That's rather flat, while still being round. There are no buttons inside or out, unlike what you'd expect, and no seams or breaks in the plastic. It's quite simply two unbroken circles apparently magnetized to each other.

The Avox picks up one of the circles and puts her hand out, asking for one of ours. I place my left palm in hers, and she slides the green part of the cuff over my hand quickly. I don't even have time to gasp before it's tightened, and now fits my wrist snugly. Not completely uncomfortably, but not loose enough for comfort, either. And I know just by feeling it, this won't come off by any means of wiggling or greasing of my hand.

Matrix extends his hand with a little more hesitation, and exclaims the same gasp as the cuff attached to mine shrinks around his own wrist.

"This is..." he breathes. "So not what I expected."

"Welcome to my world," I chuckle sourly. There's no real humor in this situation.

I twist my wrist from side to side, and indeed, the cuffs bend with it. They twist in a circle as I wrap my arm around Matrix's, and they also don't hinder my holding Matrix's hand. I think that might be helpful if we have to jump anywhere, and don't want to pull a muscle.

After another five minutes of playing with the white bands, it's made clear we can do anything we like to them, as long as they remain in contact at one point on the white surface. The green doesn't stick to the other green, and the white won't stick to it. All in all though, it's better than I could have possibly hoped for. I was expecting a metal clamp to go over both our wrists, allowing practically no motion at all.

"Please step onto the platforms for launch," the female voice buzzes in over the intercom. I jump, having been busy examining the connection between the white circles. "Launch will commence in T-minus two minutes."

The Avox gestures for us to stand on the raised metal circle, and then heads for the door. She stays just long enough to make certain we're standing on the platform before she leaves, and as the door closes behind her, a glass cylinder encloses us on the metal circle.

I start to hyperventilate, the lack of space starting to play tricks on my mind. The fact that I'll be in the arena in less than two minutes isn't helping any. The cuff is suddenly restrictive and distracting, and I start to claw at it with my still-manicured nails until Matrix's right hand closes around my own, stopping me.

"Legs, calm down," he says levelly. "We're going to be fine. We grab some supplies, we run for water. Remember?"

"Supplies... water..." I pant. "I don't know, Matrix... I don't think I can..."

"Don't," he interrupts me passionately. "Don't say you can't do this. I know you can."

He presses his lips to my forehead just as the countdown starts at thirty seconds, and I relax in his arms. My breathing calms a little, and he presses his nose to mine, staring into my gray eyes.

"We can do this," he whispers. "You and I. Okay?"

"Okay," I breathe, made almost breathless by his proximity.

We both stumble towards the glass behind me as the platform starts rising, and I find his hands on either side of my face on the cylinder. He quickly removes them and helps me stand straight, before looking up into the glaring sunlight above us, lowering to our level at a slow pace.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** Yep, I'm just gonna leave it there. xD I'm so awful. But... I wanted to leave it just there because if I went into the next chapter I'd have to go even father than I originally intended, and I really didn't want to do that. SO! You chaps get to wait a couple of weeks for me to blob the next couple of chapters onto you! Adios~! (Remember, reviews are love~!)


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N:** ...so apparently I posted a chapter twice... (chapter 11 was really a duplicate of chapter 10.) Uh, fail. XD I fixed that. So to make up for it, and because I'm currently procrastinating like crazy on my summer work, here, have another chapter! Let the Games begin~!

ALSO... Uh, yeah. So don't suddenly start hating on me for this chapter, because you guys have to remember I wrote this for Figment, and that format is WAY different than the one on fanfiction is. The chapters are a lot shorter. And since this is like, 5 or 6 chapters of it on figment, it's gonna be broken up like 5 or 6 really short chapters. I'm adjusting it as best I can, but it's a little difficult. xD So anyway. Read on, dear followers~! (Wow, jeez am I running out of hard material. I really should work on this again.)

* * *

><p>"Ladies and gentlemen, let the 75th Annual Hunger Games begin!" Claudius Templesmith's voice booms, as loud as thunder in my ears, as the glass cylinder sinks back into the metal plate beneath us. A gong goes off, ringing ominously into the surrounding silence, and I know the sixty seconds have started.<p>

The sunlight is blinding for all of two seconds, before my eyes go about eating up the surrounding area as though it's the difference between my life and death. Actually, it probably is.

58 seconds to go, and then we have to move. 57 seconds. I can do this.

Directly before me is a sloping hill, that tilts downwards, covered in various berry bushes, towards an enormous lake. It appears to be exactly circular, and there's a bridge crossing the center of it that has to be at least as wide as our living space back in District Twelve, above Parker's shop. It's made of glittering gold wood, and has railings along the edges made of the same material. But I'm more interested in what's across from it.

51 seconds. 50. 49.

The Cornucopia sits peacefully across the bridge, just beside the right side banister. Oddly though, it's not glinting as though made of metal. Rather, it's got a dull gleam to it, one I identify as plastic- probably solid, and the same industrial strength as the cuffs.

What shocks me out of my observation though, is that it isn't full of weapons, food packs, and stuff in general. It's brimming over with frosted little plastic boxes, with black lids, bearing the Hunger Games logo. Each is too frosted for me to see, in two sizes- a square, about as large as a plate, and a rectangle, big enough to hold something like a box of tissues, perhaps a little wider.

43 seconds. 42 seconds.

My eyes flash from one to the next, scattered on and around the Cornucopia, and even in the water near the bridge. And then they stop, and go back to the last one I looked at. On the ground before us, about three feet away, is a box of the same sort with a white lid.

Instead of the Hunger Games logo, it reads, "_MATRIX CARTWRIGHT & MARINA VALLI_," in fancy cursive lettering. And the shape, _oh the shape!_ It's long enough to hold a sword!

36 seconds.

When I look up to see if Matrix has noticed it though, I see him talking to the pair on the circle next to ours. And it's then I notice there are more circles with tributes on them- one beside us, a pair I recognize as District 6, and beside them is Blip and the black-haired boy who is her partner. Much much further away on the other side of us appears to be one of the District 7 pairs, but I can't be certain. They don't seem to have noticed us anyway.

34. 33.

"We won't attack you if you don't attack us," Matrix hisses, and I jump.

32. 31.

I whirl around, only to find he's addressing the District 6 pair beside us. Attack them indeed. With what weapons? By the time we reach the white box and retrieve whatever might or might not be in it, they could be on us and strangling us with their cuffs.

The girl and boy exchange looks, and then nod hesitantly. The boy looks no more than 15, and I can't imagine the girl being anything above my own age. His brown curls make him appear boyish and slightly devious, but the pale anxiety on his face disputes the image. The girl meanwhile, has her brown-blonde hair done back in a braid down her neck.

The intricacy of it makes me wonder how long it took, and whether or not it was a strategy. I would do something like that with my hair as well, in the stressful minutes before this instant, if I had known how. Matrix smiles at the pair kindly, and then looks back at me. I raise an eyebrow, asking, "_What are you doing_?" silently.

His eyes widen and he frowns at me, as though trying to convey a message. "_It doesn't matter,_" he seems to be saying. "_We'll get them later._"

20. 19.

I nod, before looking back at our surroundings. There's a dark green backpack underneath a berry bush right near several of the black lidded boxes, in which I can put the box with the sword and fit at least six more before we have to run. There's a black bag beside it, and I nudge Matrix's arm and point to it. He nods, and goes back to examining the area behind us.

10 seconds. 9. 8.

"Ready?" I hiss.

"As I'll ever be," he confirms, before gripping my left hand tightly, and positioning his feet to jump off our circle towards the white box before us.

6. 5. 4.

"Grab a bunch of boxes, get down to the lake and hide?" I ask, looking for confirmation.

"Yeah." he says quickly.

2. 1.

The gong sounds again, and my feet push off, throwing me away from the metal circle.

Away from the Capitol, and my fancy room and shower.

My stylists; my Cinna, my prep team.

My team; my Haymitch, my Effie.

My family; blood and otherwise.

My life.

But my Matrix is with me.

* * *

><p>My hands close around the white box, and then I roll forwards and come up on one knee. Matrix has grabbed the black backpack, and tugs my arm further from where I crouch so he can reach several of the lidded boxes to my left.<p>

I quickly pry open the white-lidded box, and retrieve that which I hadn't dared hope for- my double swords, and Matrix's knives. Quickly, so quickly, I strap the swords onto my back, and pass him the belt, scooting closer so he can attach it to his waist, before turning around again.

I seize the green backpack beside my left foot, and stuff the closest plastic box inside of it, and am extremely gratified to find it fits in the bottom as though the thing had been made for this purpose.

I manage to grab 4 more boxes before Matrix shouts something and stands, hauling me to my own feet before tearing off after a pair of running individuals.

I manage to keep my balance as he runs, and thankfully the backpack as well. The zipper flies through my fingers, closing my precious cache and protecting everything inside from falling out. I don't know what's inside, and it might be useless, but until I confirm that, I'm not taking any chances.

I realize we've left Blip and her partner behind, but I can't exactly stop and go back. I'm handcuffed to Matrix, who is flying through the bushes as though we're being chased. It's quite the opposite, though. We're chasing the District 6 pair, I believe.

"What did they do?" I pant, but still keeping pace with him.

"The boy killed Blip's partner!" he growls.

I say nothing. Inside, I'm wondering why he cares. I thought Blip's partner hadn't wanted to join us anyway. Perhaps this is his battle rage going crazy already. I've heard about that- it's where a person essentially blacks out, but is fighting the whole time. I sincerely hope this isn't it. I probably won't live long enough to find out if it was indeed battle rage, if it is.

The berry bushes scrape and scratch at my sleeves, but thankfully I only get a few scratches on my cheeks. The sweatshirt is really very thick. We leave several confused tribute pairs in our wake, but on our quest to stop the District 6 pair, stopping to attack them isn't exactly a priority. I'm glad we don't pass Gem and Pearl or Johnny and Blondie on our way down to the bridge- the District 6 pair's apparent target.

They stop at the banister for just an instant, intending to climb over the railing, but it's their fatal mistake. Matrix gets one of his knives out of the belt and throws it, and it hits the boy directly in the face. His blood spurts out, probably from the cheeks.

It gets all over the girl's neck, and then she screams as she sees him, and promptly falls over the edge of the banister. She pulls him over with her accidentally, but By some force of nature, she hangs on, by just one hand. I notice the blonde-brown braid is coming out, as she whips her head from the boy beneath her to the bridge and back. I duck down and scoop up what looks like a rock or fruit at my feet, and throw it. My aim is usually rather good... I can only hope now it won't fail me.

Luck complies, for once, and the fruit -a pear, so it appears from here- hits the girl's hand. She releases the railing of the bridge, and the combined weight of her and her partner takes her straight down into the lake. Their bodies hitting the lake create a plume of water of epical proportions. I think the bridge is higher up than it looks from a distance.

A cloud of red water blossoms up from the water where they have gone under, and I can only assume since the boy is unconscious, she can't drag him back up. I'm not left time to be sick to my stomach though, because there are more distractions on the way.

The other pair from 6, with that ruthless-looking blonde girl, has made their way down to the bridge, and they're coming around the back of the Cornucopia, trying to scavenge whatever they can before the mob hits.

The pair from 7 with the green glasses isn't far behind, and I even spot the girl from 9 with the gray eyes nearing the bridge.

"Matrix," I say warningly. "We've got to move soon..."

"Grab some boxes!" he commands, ducking down to scoop up two more plastic-lidded bins, and drop them into his pack.

"No!" I shout, as a knife comes whizzing through the air, and almost hits him in the head. "We're leaving!" I scream, as more knives follow after it. I think I can see several of the District 10s and one of the 11 pairs making their way out of the woods as well now, and I tug desperately against the handcuff.

Sensing my fear, Matrix straightens up, and rushes over to the edge of the bridge to retrieve something silver lying there. We both slide to our knees as what sounds like a crossbow fires, and Matrix clutches the silver object to his chest, storing it in his backpack carefully.

I recognize it as a knife just before one of the pairs from 5 is upon us, and we leap to our feet to meet them.

There's something very wrong with my sword, but I ignore it and continue swiping at the enemies. It's when I go to stab the boy and I get heightened resistance, I know something is incorrect with these blades. Matrix shoves the two over the edge of the banister then though, and we have to move again.

I've only taken two steps when the District Nine girl is there, her brown hair spinning around her wildly as she twists this way and that, attacking the District 6 and 7 pairs to make her way to the bridge.

We instantly turn around and head the other direction, but quickly see another issue. Gem and Pearl are streaking down the hill from that direction, Gem with a distance-spear, and Pearl with some sort of shield.

"We're blocked in," I say nervously, the adrenaline pumping agonizingly through my veins. "Do something, Matrix..."

And do something he does.

Taking the knife from the side of his pack, he throws it as hard as he can at the District 9 pair, to keep them busy. I don't even see if it hits one of them or not, because there's another distraction barreling towards us at this very moment.

* * *

><p>Frog and Sky are storming down the hill from almost directly behind us, shouting something unintelligible. They both wear outfits identical to ours, except Frog's sweatshirt flies to halfway up her chest whenever she takes a leap downwards, and I recognize her wearing one of Sky's two hoodies. Her cornrows are different now, containing her hair only until the back, where the brown curls bounce up and down with her motion.<p>

Sky on the other hand, has his hair styled as it usually is, and has somehow acquired a tear in one sleeve of his own hoodie already. I'm slightly surprised to notice a shovel in his hand, and Frog's sword from the Training Center in hers. But then their words reach my ears.

"Go, go!" Sky exclaims, the dreamy note in his voice replaced by one of stark terror. "Up the hill! Follow the tributary!"

"What?" Matrix asks stupidly. "No! I want to..."

"Careers!" Frog squeaks, and it's enough to send my feet flying.

Matrix is of the same mind, apparently having snapped out of his battle reverie. We both speed across the bridge at a dangerous downwards angle, towards the Cornucopia. I snatch one box out of the pile before scrambling to the grassy part of the terrain, rather than the sand near the lake.

We bolt up through the berry bushes, shoving startled tributes aside, most of them unarmed, and make our way up to where one of the two tributaries connects to the lake. The sounds of battle can be heard behind us, and I guess the Careers have reached the bridge by now, and are claiming the Cornucopia for their own. I find it's easy not to think about the District 6 pair who are figuratively feeding the fishes.

"Rina!" a familiar voice calls from the other side of the tributary. My eyes flit across it to where Blip runs with us, now without her District partner. I wave to inform her I've noticed her. I wonder briefly how she got her handcuff unattached from his, but don't linger on it. There's no time.

For now I see why Frog and Sky were so desperate to get us and run- it's because Johnny and Blondie, the second pair from District One, are pursuing us up the tributary. Flathead and his partner, the girl with the cropped hair, aren't far behind either.

"Climb!" Matrix manages to gasp, between breaths. As we reach the nearest tree he stops, and slings his left arm up over the lowest branch, pulling himself up agilely.

I join him quickly, my feet scrambling to get up the textured bark, and I manage to scale my way up to the next branch, on the other side. Matrix joins me on a close branch, and we continue working our way up until a branch cracks beneath his feet, and we both freeze.

The Careers have stopped, all of them, right beneath our tree. I peer across the tributary to where Frog, Sky and Blip have gone, but can't find them. Brilliant.

"Do you want them?" Blondie asks the girl with the cropped hair, and she nods. "We'll go, then?"

Flathead growls in agreement, before Blondie and Johnny are running back the way they came, and shooting the District 2 pair an odd look.

Flathead and his partner go to scale the tree after us, but Matrix flings a knife down at them, which lodges itself in the girl's neck, and she dies instantly. No sooner than she had fallen backwards and her eyes rolled up in her head, the handcuffs binding her body to Flathead's make a loud snapping noise.

They disconnect, leaving him unhindered, and her body falls to the ground with a loud thud. A feral growl rips up his throat, but he continues climbing.

"We have to get higher," I mutter, as he jumps to the third branch.

"Or lower..." Matrix murmurs, clearly deep in thought.

"What?" I gasp.

"On the count of three, jump." Matrix says, not giving me a chance to argue, rather, sidling further out along the branch I'm perched on, and aiming for the tributary. I don't have time to guess where he's going before- "Three!" he exclaims, throwing himself from the branch, out above the water, and reaching for the tree across the stream.

My body goes shooting out after him as I jump, per his orders, but I scream in dismay as the tributary grows larger and larger beneath us.

I'm hoping, praying he knows what he's doing, because at the rate the ground is speeding towards us, and the combined distance down to the tributary, we'll die upon impact. And I hope Flathead makes the same conclusion and doesn't follow us, assuming we make it.

There's an arm-wrenching tug from my left shoulder, and I shout in pain as my full weight is caught by the handcuff. I peer up, and see Matrix has seized a branch on the tree we hang below now, and holds on with all he's got. It must be difficult- my weight, the backpacks, and his own.

He releases the branch, and we drop to the ground with identical grunts. I have to check every part of my body for injury before looking up to see where Flathead's gone. Both of my arms seem fine, and my legs don't seem to be broken. Bruised is another story, but I can worry about that later.

Matrix stays silent for another moment, rubbing his right arm, so I give him a moment, and look out across the tributary to where we've left our assailant.

The tributary is much wider than I had previously thought, I think. It's at least the width of a river. There's no way he can cross it without a bridge now. My eyes find their way up to the tree we'd previously occupied as I rub my sore shoulder.

Flathead stops, glaring down at us with pure hatred, but he knows he can't reach us now. It's a miracle we made it ourselves, but I think it was the added weight of myself and the packs.

Matrix waves cheerfully to the other tribute, before pulling himself up, and helping me to my feet. We collect the contents of the packs, which have spilled all over the ground, and reload them into the bags.

"Well." he grins. "Quite the morning, hmm, Legs?"

"Quite," I agree shakily.

* * *

><p>We make our way up the tributary quickly, not doubting Flathead would eventually get down from the tree and pursue us. Maybe not even right now, because he might be drawn into the bloodbath still. But even so, we both agree it's better to have distance on them. Our allies seem to have gone this way anyway, so it's not a bad place to start.<p>

It's only twenty minutes before we reach another bridge- this one much smaller, and with intricate design on the underneath area of it. It is a spiraling, swirling sort of design, with twists and curls painted in the same gold wood as the bridge back at the lake and the rest of this bridge.

There's something off about it though, and I stop dead in my tracks. Matrix stops as he feels the tug of the cuff, and turns around to look at me curiously.

"What is it, Legs?" he asks, stepping back to where I stand, and eyeing the bridge critically.

"There's something I should know about this bridge that I don't," I mutter, not even making sense to my own ears. "I don't like it."

"It's just a bridge," he laughs. "Calm down, will you? The battle's back there."

"I know, but-" I begin.

"Nothing to be afraid of," he sighs, dropping the pack from his one shoulder and pulling me over to the bridge as he steps towards it.

I squeal in dismay as he steps into the water and peers underneath the intricacy of the designs on the bottom, and I struggle to keep my balance on land. Even though the tributary's thinned out a great deal, into the size of a stream, I don't imagine I won't get soaking wet if I fall in.

He jumps backwards abruptly, shouting cuss words as he stumbles backwards over his own feet, and plants his butt hard on the ground.

"Gotcha!" a familiar voice exclaims cheerfully, and Frog's brunette cornrows appear from underneath the bridge.

"What?" I gasp. "How-? When-?"

"When you guys were being treed," Blip sighs, preceding the other girl out into the open. "We figured you would handle it, and we had to get somewhere to stay."

"It's surprisingly spacious," Sky's voice calls out still underneath the bridge as Frog returns, his dreamy tone having returned already. "But a little dirty. I hope you two don't mind."

Matrix and I exchange looks. I can just see the laughter in his eyes, even though he is still startled over having been proved wrong. I shrug and help him stand, before following Blip back into the space under the bridge.

Sky is right- it is spacious. From a distance, this bridge appears to be five by seven feet, no larger. But underneath you could say differently, just because of the height. The bridge is misleadingly tall underneath. It must be at least six feet, above the water, receding down to three feet at its lowest point.

There are two metal plates on either side of the water, probably to prevent mud from accumulating and the bridge from collapsing. On one of the metal plates sits Sky, with his shovel, and a pile of rocks, along with a little brown backpack that appears to have two or three of the frosted boxes in it. Frog is beside him now, toying with her newly-unbraided hair.

Matrix laughs delightedly and deposits the black backpack on the metal plate on our side of the tributary, that's still rushing and flowing between us and the other two, and crouches down to sit against the end of the bridge, where the metal plate goes up and connects with the bottom of the bridge. I'm pulled in his direction, but I drop my own pack and have to pull against the cuff to peer back at the designing on the thing covering us from sight to the outside.

There are indeed small holes in the woodwork, large enough for us to see out, but not large enough for others to see in, since it's so dark beneath here, and so light out there. Then I grin, and relax my muscles a little, taking a seat beside Matrix.

"This is amazing! We could just sit here the entire time, and not have to kill anyone," I say to Matrix, quietly enough that Frog, Blip and Sky, who are fighting over some kind of plastic sheet, can't overhear us.

"Yeah, until it's just us five, and then what do we do?" He says ruefully. "I don't think that would be a good idea, Legs."

"Oh," I say, and my heart sinks. He's right, of course he is. We can't be left with these three. We simply can't.

"Hey, can we check what we got now?" Blip complains.

"Yeah!" Frog agrees, and I don't doubt she would have been jumping with excitement, were we not beneath a six-foot space. She takes a large step across the flowing water and joins us on our half of the bridge, snatching the brown bag with the boxes, and tossing one each to Sky and Blip.

"You only got three?" Matrix chuckles, watching Sky pry the lid off his box with excitement.

"Yeah, why?" Sky asks, mystified.

"Oh, no reason," he grins.

I can't stop the smile spreading across my own face. I know what Matrix is happy about- the fact that we've collected so many boxes, and they haven't. It's nice, being superior. Actually, it's nice being alive. And the more boxes we have, the more potential life we have as well. Henceforth, in a way, we're superior.

The question now being- do we share said superiority?

"We'll be right back," Matrix says, seizing his back from beside him, and grabbing mine before ducking outside the bridge, tugging me with him.

* * *

><p>"We," he says, grinning as he stretches, once we're far enough away from the bridge not to be overheard. We pick an extremely tight cluster of trees to stand behind. "Did marvelously, if I do say so myself."<p>

"I know," I agree, extending my arm so he can stretch in the opposite direction. "We got so many more boxes!"

"Speaking of which, that's why I left. I don't want them seeing what we got, just in case there is something really good in there."

He leans over then, and opens the flap on his black bag.

"The moment of truth," I laugh.

He nods seriously, before pulling out the first box. The lid is a shining black plastic, one I can't help but compare to the black color of coal mined from District Twelve. The circular logo for the Hunger Games is stamped in the center of the lid, and the edges appear to be sealed rather tightly.

Before he peels the lid off, I can tell even through the frosted plastic that the contents of the box are either tubular or cylindrical. There's some sort of red label, and I frown slightly, confused, but wait in a curious stupor as he lifts the lid from the box.

At first, I'm baffled. There are 8 metal circles on the very top, each with some sort of little tabs with circular holes in the middle. Matrix whoops in delight though, and pulls one out from the top, his fingers gripping the metal canister tightly as he spins it around, checking the label.

"What, what is it?" I wonder.

"You've never seen cans, Legs?" he laughs. "I suppose you wouldn't, your family never would have gotten the winnings that Katniss and Peeta got last year. They store food! It practically never goes bad! You have no idea how valuable this could-"

"No, I don't," I interrupt him, my curiosity overpowering my patience. I take the canister from his hand and turn it around in my own, until familiar words pop to my eyes in a bright red color. It reads, _Chicken Noodle._ "Soup?" I ask incredulously. "How do they get it in the canister?"

"I have no idea," he laughs, taking the can and putting it back in the plastic box. "But it doesn't matter, does it? We've got soup!"

"Right," I chuckle. "My turn?"

"Yeah, go ahead," he grins.

I pull the black-lidded box on the top of the pile from my green backpack, recalling where I'd gotten it from.

"I snatched this one from the Cornucopia," I grin. "Here's hoping it's something good," I say, ripping the lid off quickly.

At first glance, I'm startled. There are frogs in my box. I drop it, shocked, and terrified that they'll jump out and get into my clothes. Maybe they're poisonous... I sit, frozen, waiting to see where they'll go. After a few agonizingly slow moments, Matrix reaches forward, and picks one up.

"They're rubber," he says, shock clearly evident in his tone. "All rubber!"

I scramble closer to where he holds it to examine them all, because surely he's joking. Indeed, he's correct, though. It's a well-modeled frog, made entirely of rubber. They all are- of varying colors and sizes, but none less real than any other.

"Well so much for getting something good from the Cornucopia," I sigh. "I suppose they don't have to make everything in it all it's worked up to be."

Matrix just shrugs, still grinning. "Well we can always throw them at people," he suggests.

"Yes, we can," I laugh, tossing one at his nose.

He catches it, and drops it back into the box with the others. Turning to his backpack, he dumps the remainder of the boxes onto the ground before us, and empties the bin of frogs into the bottom. "Padding," he shrugs, as he catches me eyeing him questioningly.

I just snort before reaching for one of his boxes and prying the lid off. In the rest of the boxes he's found, we acquire exactly 1 pot and a spoon, enough tinder and flint for one fire, a minor first-aid kit, two hairbrushes and a bar of soap, a mirror and razor blade, two empty water bottles complete with built-in purifiers, and one blanket. I'm curious about my own boxes, though, and what they might contain.

Of my five boxes, in the first three we find this. Four packages of dried fruits, meats, and nuts, as well as plastic-coated cheeses, a sharpening and polishing kit, with which Matrix is thrilled, and a box labeled roasted chicken and roasted potatoes, containing gravy and tomato sauce. Both of our stomachs growl at so much as reading it, but we agree to share that at the very least with the others.

The next two are the most curious. Both are slightly smaller than the other boxes. Not by so large an amount that it would be noticeable, but enough for us to see the difference at this distance. There's also something... off about both. It's as though they're stolen property, like we shouldn't be seeing what's inside.

"I want to open them," I say, after a minute of sitting, staring at them in silence.

"I know," Matrix agrees seriously. "But I'm almost afraid something's going to pop out and kill us."

I swallow nervously, but put on my bold face. "Don't be ridiculous," I say, reaching for the closer of the two boxes. "They wouldn't do that."

My left wrist tugs Matrix's hand onto my knee as I work at the tight lid on the box, and he grips it for support, so that I can get a better hold on the lid. It's exceedingly hard to pry off, but after a few more seconds working at it the cover goes flying off, leaving the contents of the box exposed.

Inside sit these objects: one flashlight, with extra batteries, and one watch, with tiny silver circles I can only assume are batteries. Both of them are certainly invaluable.

"Are those-?" I start.

"I'd guess they're the only ones," he agrees, finishing my sentence.

"The only technology in the arena," I begin slowly. "And we have it?"

"There could be more..." he says nervously.

"There were no night-vision glasses," I remind him. "No electrical weapons, no computers or phones or trackers or sensors or-"

"Nothing," he agrees solemnly. "And with the number of boxes we had... we should have had another, shouldn't we?"

I just nod, taking the flashlight out and tilting it this way and that in wonder.

"We don't tell them," he says quietly, his expression dark. "The stakes are too high. In case this really is the only technology in the arena."

I agree hastily, not liking the look on his face, and drop the flashlight into his backpack, onto the pile of rubber frogs. The watch soon follows, and all the extra batteries after them. We also stow the first aid kit, the mirror and the blade, and both water bottles along with the blanket into the pack.

The boxes of food are dumped into my pack, but only the chicken and potatoes stay in their box, since the rest of them are non-perishable, according to labels on the sides.

"What about the last one?" I breathe after another moment.

A branch cracks beneath someone's foot outside our ring of trees then though, and we both freeze. I stuff the box into my pack, before hastily sliding the silent zipper closed, and hoisting it onto one shoulder.

* * *

><p>"Matrix, Rina?" Frog's voice calls outside our ring of trees.<p>

My muscles instantly relax, and a grin spreads across my face. "We're here, Frog," I reply, tugging Matrix out from the trees.

"We were just coming to tell you we figured out something..." Sky starts before Matrix cuts him off.

"So have we," he says, stepping forwards. "The Cornucopia is backwards this year."

"What?" Frog, Sky and I gasp at the same time.

"It makes sense, think about it, Legs," he continues, addressing me, and clearly pleased to have come to the conclusion before I had. "The rubber frogs from the Cornucopia box? And all the... things we got from the other ones?"

I think hard for a moment, before my brain picks up the trail. Of course, he's correct. The box with the rubber frogs was indeed pointless, and the boxes we got back at our platforms had vital supplies in them. Like the flashlight and watch- quite possibly the only technology in the arena. I hope they're both waterproof, in case it rains.

"That explains why we got such good stuff!" Frog gasps, before bolting off in the opposite direction, probably back to Blip.

Evidentially, she forgets she's attached to Sky at the wrist, and ends up slipping down a slight incline and landing hard on her back. Sky tumbles downwards after her, and Matrix snorts.

"This is going to take some getting used to..." Sky sighs as he gets up, scrambling to follow Frog, still in a hurry to get back to the bridge.

"You're telling me," I chuckle, as Matrix starts for the bridge after them, and I pull his cuff backwards to remind him I'm still here.

He looks back at me, confused, but I just try to warn him with my eyes that I want to wait a moment or so longer. He nods, still faking a smile, and Frog and Sky turn and wave at us back at the bridge, but I wave them off with a large -fake- smile.

"The last box?" I ask. "And what are we sharing with them?"

"I think we can do to share all of it except enough food to last just us two for a week or so, and the tech. Maybe the frogs," he adds with a grin.

"And what about the last one?" I prod. "Should we open it?"

"No..." he says slowly, eyeing my backpack nervously. "Why don't we wait for... a third of the competition to be gone?"

"There are double the competitors though," I warn. "I'd go for half."

"Agreed," he says, and a smile works its way back onto his face. "Back to the bridge we go?" he suggests, hefting his backpack higher on his shoulder.

"To the bridge," I agree, and we start working our way down the small hill towards the stream.

We end up stopping there and washing off our supplies. Neither of us can fathom how it happened, but somehow Flathead's partner's blood splattered on our boots. Maybe there's some of the District 6 pair's, or someone else's there as well, but we both agree not to think about it.

My mind flashes back to the lake as I gently scrub at the red stains on my boots. Matrix was so different... after the District 6 pair had killed Blip's partner. He had been one of our biggest problems, hadn't he? We were concerned he wouldn't go along with Blip and us. They'd taken care of one of the obstacles blocking us from returning home.

So why the anger? My mind continually asks. I ignore the unanswered question in favor of cleaning off my swords, though. That too brings up a recollection. I tug the blades from the sheath on my back, and observe them critically.

Earlier this morning, I'd gone to... what, slice at the other boy? I can't even recall my exact actions anymore. Well, I've had a lot to remember. All I can remember is that something was terribly, terribly wrong with my swords.

Now the issue presents itself. I almost moan in despair. The blades are dulled- so very dulled, I might think they were poles. The serrated blade isn't serrated any longer, instead it appears almost wavy, since the teeth have been shredded into round lumps on the column that used to be my sword. The other blade isn't sharp enough to cut through chicken. I'd probably be surprised if it were sharp enough to cut through_ paper_.

"What happened to my knives?" Matrix exclaims as he unsheathes his blades. "They're dull!"

"So are mine," I sigh. "I think this is why they gave them to us right away. Because there's not much we can do with them,"

He frowns, thinking, and letting the stream rush over his boots, a bad idea, I'm certain. Suddenly his head jerks up, and this ridiculous grin creeps its way onto his features. He reaches for his bag and starts digging through it feverishly.

"What are you...?" I start to ask him.

"Oh there's a lot we can do with these," he says, giving me this look that makes me question his sanity. For the second time in five minutes.

"Matrix..." I say warningly.

"We've got the sharpening kit!" he declares, holding up the small box triumphantly.

"We're back in the Games," I grin, as it dawns on me. We've got our blades back.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** There you have it~! Thoughts, comments, guesses for the future? I'm also testing my foreshadowing ability for something that'll end this story with a bit of a flash, so if you guys have any guesses for how you think this'll end I'd love to know what you think~!


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N:** Okay... I know what you're all probably thinking. Holy CRAP that's long. Um, I know. But I wanted to get it out to you all firstly because I had a really bad day, and second because I've decided I NEED to start writing SOMETHING again soon.** THIS IS OFFICIALLY THE END OF MY PRE-WRITTEN MATERIAL.** So... there'll be no more convenient posting whenever I feel like it... and I really REALLY need short-term ideas. But I'll beg at the end of this monster (over 12,000 words! Holy crap!) chapter. Read on~!

* * *

><p>"What was it you figured out, earlier?" Matrix asks Frog conversationally later that evening, as the sun is setting.<p>

The five of us sit huddled in a row on the left side of the bridge's underbelly, as we've dubbed it, each sharpening something except Blip and I. She took her former partner's coat from his body, and now slices a square of fabric from the back off with one of Matrix's already-sharpened knives. Neither Matrix nor I can figure out what she's doing with it, but we decided we'd rather not know a few minutes back, when she started muttering about how quickly she could kill someone.

"Oh right!" Frog giggles, leaning forward past Sky to see him. "Blip figured it out, really. She can explain."

"What?" Blip asks, her eyes looking dazedly around at them. "The cuff thing?"

"Yeah, that," Frog affirms, before going back to scraping the sharpener up and down across her weapon.

"Well when that 6 boy shot Chink, I stopped, and waited for his heart to go," she explains, putting the coat in her lap for a moment. "And when it finally did, exactly as it stopped beating, the cuff disconnected from his and I left."

"That explains why Flathead's partner dropped from the tree," I say, addressing Matrix as well.

"Mmh," he muses, but goes back to sharpening his knives rather quickly. There's a frown on his face now, one that spreads to mine as I wonder what could have possibly set him off this time around.

We all continue to sharpen our respective weapons in silence -even Sky's shovel gets a sharpening- until the sun sets all the way. My swords however, I decided to leave in their rounded state. My logic being that I fear I'll hit Matrix with them. The second bit of logic guiding my answer is that I believe any sharp edge I manage to salvage from the metal poles that used to be my swords would be thin and snap easily.

Besides... they just feel... right this way. Like they were good as swords, but now they are even more useful to me. It might sound insane, but I can't help thinking these are extensions of my arms when I hold them. While they were swords, I had to be more careful with them. Now I guess it's a feeling of a more suitable weapon.

And... dull or not, metal this thick could known someone out for a _long_ time.

The darkness sinks over the arena around us slowly, making our little area beneath the bridge even darker than it had been in the daytime. It almost makes me want to bring out the flashlight, but I know we shouldn't share that with the others.

"Where are the kills?" Sky exclaims suddenly, making me jump.

"Kills?" I ask blankly. "What do you mean?"

"In the sky," Frog says, leaning out from beneath the bridge and looking up.

"What?" Sky asks.

"Not you. The sky, Sky." Frog corrects him.

"It doesn't matter," Matrix sighs, "Sky or sky or whatever. The kills aren't up yet."

"What kills?" I repeat, and sound even to myself like an idiot.

"For the day," Blip explains. "Remember? They show them on the hovercraft for tributes to see."

"Oh," I gasp in recognition. I'd forgotten. There were no cannons shot today, because it was only the bloodbath. Too many tributes died all at once for the cannons to be fired correctly anyway.

"Isn't it usually as the sun sets?" Blip asks, leaning past Matrix and I to glance at Frog questioningly.

"Yes, or a little later. We should wait until it's completely dark." Frog affirms, still peering out at the sky, half tugging Sky's arm out from under the bridge.

I look back down at my poles as Sky and Frog start discussing the constellations. Of all the things Katniss taught me in the woods, that's not one of them. I go to playing with the metal in my hands, running my palm up and down along the lengths.

The blue one, the formerly smooth blade, now has no trace of the swirling designs, or the edge. It's simply a metal pole protruding from a double sword's base. And that's fine with me. I think I can handle it as a pole just as easily as a sword. It's thick, so I wonder if perhaps they didn't dull the blade after all, just melted and reshaped it.

The one with the ruby at the base is slightly different. It has smooth grooves along one side, what I attribute to previously having been the serrated edge of the blade. This will do well to hit people with, and leave uncomfortable bruising. Cutting, though, will have to fall to someone else to handle.

"Why didn't you sharpen those again?" Blip asks me suddenly, nudging my elbow to get my attention.

"Oh, no reason," I murmur, not really wanting to explain my logic to her.

Our exchange has caught Matrix's attention as well, though, and he repeats her question. "Why _didn't_ you?" he asks.

"No reason!" I snap, and it's just in the nick of time, Frog squeals outside the bridge, making us all jump.

"It's on!" She hisses. "They're showing the kills!"

Matrix and I share a glance, each forgiving the other for the last minute's actions, and then scramble together out from the metal plate beneath the bridge to where the cornrowed brunette sits on her ankles, staring up into the sky.

My eyes follow hers up to the heavens, and I gasp a little. There's an image of the Hunger Games logo, and the Capitol's anthem blares from I don't even know where.

"Are we still doing the bracelets?" Matrix asks me quietly.

I just nod, incapable of speech at the moment. The hovercraft is almost pressing down on me, it's hovering so low. Or so it seems. And then again... it might just be the prospect of seeing who of the 43 other people in the arena have died.

* * *

><p>The first face that flashes across the hovercraft's screen, with a tiny number 2 in the corner is none other than Flathead's partner's. A painful lurch rips through my stomach muscles. I can identify it as guilt without even thinking. It doesn't sit well with me that we've killed this girl, but what else could we do?<p>

Does her family weep for her tonight? Does she even have one? I can't remember what her background was at the Reaping. Were there people in the audience calling for her? Siblings, maybe younger ones, wondering why their sister will never return to them? What have we done?

I swallow the lump that's formed itself in my throat, and blink once, shaking my head out guiltily. My eyes fall to the bracelet on my right hand, and I bring it to eye level, and undo the clasp in the back. I've studied this bracelet's contours so many times, I know the thing inside and out. I think the edges are wearing, I've felt it so many times.

Flipping it and placing it flat in my lap, I take two of the tiny metal clasps and pull them upwards, before flipping the bracelet back over. I take a deep breath and then pull the first tiny silver stud out, and deposit it in the grass beside me. Something eases in my chest, as though I'm putting a notion to rest. It'll be back though, I'm certain of it. This burden will return as soon as it can- probably the instant I'm out of the arena, assuming I get there.

Before I can calm myself down a little further, the next face flashes onto the screen reflected in the quick-moving stream before me, and I look back up. The next image is of the black-haired, almond-eyed boy called Chink, Blip's former partner. I look to her, to see her reaction, but she just purses her lips together, and makes the three-fingered sign in his direction. I look down regretfully, but not bothering to become guilty over his death. He was avenged, at least.

Another silver stud is removed from my bracelet. I go to place it with the first on the ground between Matrix and I, and find his hand in my way. He holds out his hand, palm up, gesturing for me to place the metal into his palm. I do so, and look up, meeting his gaze. We share an unspoken understanding- we're neither of us to feel guilty for anything. The steely appearance of his normally lighter eyes tells me so.

We both look back up as the lighting falling upon us changes once more, as the next picture cuts over the last. I'm half expecting to see Micheal or Kay's face staring down at me, but I sigh in relief as I see it's just one of the District 5 boys. His partner follows after him- I knew neither, but still feel a little bad as I remove their silver studs from my bracelet as well. Matrix and I as well as killed this pair too.

We're left no time to wonder who will appear on the screen next, out loud at least, because then there he is, the District 6 boy with whom Matrix dealt with this morning. His brown curls are exactly the same as I remember them while we pursued him down the hill, and the little baby fat remaining on his face is more prominent in the picture, in which he's grinning, than it was in the arena earlier.

The next picture leaves me breathless, and gives me no time to even remove the silver piece on my bracelet for the curly-haired boy Matrix killed. Because the next picture... the next person, I correct myself. I killed her.

Her face is smiling down at me, her dark, crystalline blue eyes seeming to pierce my soul as she appears to be laughing at me, crouching in the dirt as I am. The thin, brown-blonde hair cascades around her shoulders in waves, and there is a light dusting of freckles across her nose. A large, blotchy birthmark across the bridge of her nose, which I hadn't noticed before, in a baby-skin pink color. What do her parents look like? Siblings? A boyfriend or girlfriend? Friends from school, classmates? Do they all know I killed her?

The funny thing... or perhaps not so funny thing is that... I never meant to kill her. I don't know what prodded me to throwing that fruit, but whatever it was wasn't myself. I didn't want her to die because of my actions. I wasn't trying to drown her, have her be dragged down by the body of her companion, maybe even a close friend.

My eyes glaze over as I stare at the picture of her, and replay the happenings of her death in my mind. From her perspective. She stands there, watching her partner kill Blip's partner. Then they're running madly, desperately, trying to escape us. We're the monsters in their mind.

They run up the bridge, scrambling to maintain their balance. Then it's straight to the railing- maybe they can escape through the water. Maybe we don't want them that badly. Not fast enough. She doesn't know what happens before his blood is splattering her face, her clothes, dripping down her neck quickly. One step backwards is all it takes.

A reverse of gravity, and then just one hand, and the other tugged downwards with force... so much force. One tiny bit of pressure striking her hand, and her fingers release the railing at the tiny bit of pain... reacting instinctively, and changing... ending her life.

The splash of the water, and then the sky fading to nothing as the world closes in around her, all air disappearing from her lungs, suffocating, suffocating...

"Legs?" Matrix's voice breaks through my thoughts.

I blink, aroused from my stupor, and look around, startled. Somehow I've ended up on the ground- my back, anyway. Matrix leans over me concernedly, and I feel him take his hand away from my forehead.

"I killed her," I breathe.

"No you didn't," he scolds gently, being softer than usual. "You saved us. And whoever she might have killed later. Everyone is your enemy Legs, you can regret everything later. It's okay to kill everyone else."

The words are wrong. I know they're wrong, but they're so right. They make so much sense. And they're what I needed to hear. Thankfully, Frog, Sky and Blip are too absorbed in waiting for the next deceased tribute's face to appear to hear them.

Those words will become my mantra. I can't afford to question this. Not here, not now. Matrix, who's killed at least two people now, would know. We can sort this all out later, over a cup of coffee, in Haymitch's kitchen. Just a month or so, and we'll be back, I assure myself.

* * *

><p>We finish watching the faces pass across the hovercraft's screen in silence. There's nothing else to be said though, is there? The Careers are all alive, except Flathead's partner. Micheal and Kay are still alive. The only reason we're watching it now is so that we can count how many of us are left.<p>

By the time the last face disappears from the screen, Matrix and I have a pile of 32 metal studs sitting between us in the grass. 16 tributes died today. That makes 16 families mourning. 16 or more groups of friends cursing us for being alive.

But for now, none of that means a thing to me. Not one word. No, it's just Matrix and I here, that's what important. The two of us surviving, and getting home. To Rosabelle. My mom. Haymitch. Prim. Hell, even Katniss and Peeta. And if 30 more people have to die for that to happen, it's just going to have to happen.

Except... one part of the calculation sticks in my mind. One third of us are dead. A third, already, just by the first night. That leaves two thirds the opponents left. Only two thirds as many people for me to face.

"I want to go to sleep," I mutter, after the anthem plays one last time, and the screen goes black. I don't think they even hear me, over the soft hum of the engine as it drifts slowly away.

Matrix gets the message though, as I rise and take a step towards the bridge. He scrambles to retrieve the studs scattered on the ground between us, but manages to do it quickly enough that I don't have to stop to wait for him.

I duck beneath the wood decoration and slide along the metal base until Matrix scoots in after me. The ground is cold- as metal is apt to be at night. There's not even a trace of the heat our bodies had left by sitting here before the kills were shown. I can't prevent a chill running down my spine, and I react instantly, my arms locking together, to try and preserve heat as the goose bumps form up my arm, even through the thick hoodie.

"Cold?" Matrix asks quietly.

I say nothing. I don't want his comfort right now... some part of me just died. The part that has a conscience. That part I'm keeping down so that I can survive these Games without dying inside.

Apparently he doesn't get the non-message, though. His arms wrap tightly around my shoulders, his right hand tugging my left up across my chest, to rest on my own shoulder. If I didn't know it would encourage him, I would sigh. He is much warmer than the bridge, and at least now my hands aren't freezing. I wish we'd gotten some gloves, now...

The other three are looking at constellations again. Well, they were until Blip fell into the water, taking Sky and Frog with her. From the splashing, they're just exiting the stream now, whispering the banter of passing the blame back and forth between the three of them.

"I can see you're not going to talk," Matrix breathes, bringing me back to where we two sit with his warm breath tickling my neck. "So I guess I'll just have to talk for the both of us."

_We'll see how that works out_, I think with a slight smirk.

"Why Matrix," he starts, attempting an impression of my voice. "You look so _manly_ tonight,"

I cuff his ear gently to show my disapproval, but I'm glad his face is beside mine, so he can't see the grin there. He's such an idiot. But he is my idiot.

"Why thank you, Legs," he says, forcing his voice deeper than it usually is. "Hey, how about that District Twelve food?"

He clears his throat, before shifting it several octaves higher again, trying to mimick me a second time. "Oh, Matrix, you devil," he croons sarcastically. "You're just such a terrible person!"

Then it's back to the deeper Matrix-voice. "Well girls like badasses, don't they?" he asks innocently. "I should just go bash in a few Career heads, and then would you like me better, Legs?"

"No," I gasp, pulling away from him and sitting upright quickly. "No, you're fine!" I dive forwards and wrap my arms around his neck tightly. He doesn't need to go after the Careers. Besides, doesn't he hunt in the woods in District Twelve every day or so now? Hasn't he already proved to me what an ass he is, regardless of bad?

"I was kidding," he says, but I can hear shock in his voice. Just a little, but it's there. "Legs, I'm not_ that_ stupid, contrary to popular belief,"

"Okay," I whisper, still not releasing him. I'm afraid he'll suddenly go all dark again, and stop talking to me. I don't want him to let go. It's a stark difference from just a few minutes ago, but now it's even darker, if that's possible, and I don't want to go to sleep without his warmth.

We both wait a few minutes, our arms wrapped around each other in silence, but my eyes are open in an instant as a certain thought occurs to me.

"I need to stop acting like such a baby," I pout. "I'm going to get us killed."

Matrix bursts out laughing, and I have to stifle the sound with my hands before I can relax even a little. By the time he's finally finished, there are tears streaming down his face, and the face-splitting grin that's covering his features would be enough to do Effie proud, after our rather unsatisfactory interview training.

"What's so funny?" I frown. "I was serious..."

"I know, that's what's so funny," he whispers, the irksome grin not going anywhere anytime soon. "You're being a baby about being a baby."

My scowl deepens, and he just smiles even wider. I huff angrily and scoot a few feet away from him, crossing my right arm over my chest, since my left is still attached to Matrix. I really don't want his hand anywhere near my chest every time I go to cross my arms.

"Do you want me to tell you when you're doing it?" he asks, sobering up a little.

I just nod, before a yawn forces it's way up my throat, out into the air. I make it last a few seconds- it's a nice feeling.

"You should get some sleep," he notes, taking my left hand and enclosing it in his palms.

"And what about you?" I demand, before he starts getting me so off-topic, I'll forget and fall asleep. "You need sleep as well."

"Yes, but you forget, we're not on Effie's mad schedule anymore," he winks. "We can _sleep in_."

I don't bother pointing out that people who sleep in get killed quickly before the next yawn escapes my mouth.

"Go to sleep," he pressures me, pulling my arm so that I lean over his lap.

He intertwines his fingers with mine, and rests his hand on his lap. I reluctantly let my head drop to where my hand sits, in his, and then get comfortable against his body. My eyelids begin to droop after just a few seconds. What seems like only a minute later, I'm ready to completely black out.

Something partially pulls at my consciousness though, and I half-rouse myself out of curiosity. It sounds as though someone's singing, just above wherever I am. It's a chilling melody, but the lyrics are sweet. Well, what I catch of them in my half-sleeping state.

_You and I._  
><em>Safe.<em>  
><em>No one can hurt you now.<em>

I like the song. I make a mental note in my groggy mind state to ask Matrix to sing it to me tomorrow morning. Maybe it'll be like,_ our_ song or something.

* * *

><p>Pancakes. The first thing I smell is the alluring scent of freshly-baked pancakes. There's some other flavor there... one I can't quite put my finger on.<p>

I know it's common for Mrs. Everdeen to make vanilla pancakes, because Prim adores them, and whenever Rosabelle's there for breakfast, she'll match Prim in appetite for them. My mother usually makes chocolate chip and mint sprig, though. This scent though is... different. Maybe she's trying something new Katniss found in the woods. Peeta was experimenting with new things the other day... that's probably it. The doughy aroma is the same, marking bread or baked grain, but something else there is just wrong. I want to say metallic, but... I can't be certain. Does metal even have a scent?

The sun angles through the window of my room at the Everdeens' house uncomfortably, and I try to shift positions, roll over on the bed. I jerk fully awake as my face comes in contact with something that feels like warm canvas, instead of the soft, cool fabric of the pillow I'm so used to.

I peer this way and that in the semi-light, and have to quickly press a hand over my mouth to stifle a sob of despair as my location comes back to me. I am not in my house, and my mother is not testing a new pancake recipe. Mrs. Everdeen is not waiting for us all to wake up, or to delight us with some kind of baked good from Peeta. I am still in the Games. Under a bridge. With four other people, three of whom have to die.

I don't dare squeeze Matrix's hand, and wake him up. It'll only make me look like a weakling to the others, because I can almost guarantee whatever he does will be loud enough to wake them. Instead I take the sleeve of his sweatshirt and hold his arm to my face, just keeping his hand on my face. I wasn't expecting anything, because I just needed the comfort, but it helps, it really does. It takes a good several minutes for me to calm my breathing, and compose myself. Only then do I dare sit up, and check to see if the others are still here.

Matrix is still asleep beside me, of course, but I notice very quickly that Frog and Sky are not beneath the bridge. The light outside of it is still too dark to see, though. I wonder what time it is. Normally it's not this dark unless it's still before 6 in the morning. Blip lays snoring on top of our green backpack, the one with the food boxes. I'm a little surprised she can be comfortable enough to sleep on that, but hey, it's her neck that'll be hurting her this morning, not mine.

The unusual aroma is coming from the outside of the bridge- specifically, the side opposite the lake. There's also a faint sizzling noise coming from that direction. I frown, wondering what that could be about, until I see Frog and Sky, sitting before what looks to be a tiny camp stove. That's where the scent seems to issue forth from, and my stomach rumbles unhappily. I place my hand on the offending organ, startled. I only remember then that last night, we hadn't eaten a thing.

Instead of going straight to their side, I sigh quietly before twisting and digging into my backpack, my hand searching blindly in the crevice. Finally, my fingers close around the two clips I'd been searching for. I nudge Matrix with my elbow to wake him, and as he starts awake, deposit one of the two water bottles in his lap. Taking my own, I edge closer to the water between us and Blip, and unscrew the top of it with my teeth.

My finger stops, though, when I flip it upside down and go to poke my finger inside, expecting to find a package of iodine to purify the water. A thin layer of mesh covers the top, and beneath that, I can see some sort of contraption just at the top of the bottle.

"Built-in purifiers," Matrix yawns, sounding impressed as he peers into his own water bottle.

"Is that what these are?" I ask quietly, trying to keep my voice down so Blip won't wake.

"'Course," he chuckles. "What else would they be? With no iodine?"

"Fine, then you drink from it first," I huff. "I'm not going to die of whatever might be in the water."

"If you insist," he sighs, dipping his bottle into the quickly-flowing stream water. It fills up within moments, and in one fluid motion, he takes it out of the water, and has the cap on it.

"What happened to drinking it?" I complain, as he shakes the bottle up and down.

"You never said I wasn't allowed to double-check to make sure it wasn't poisoned," he grins, still shaking the plastic container.

I frown, but say nothing as he finally complies, opening the lid and guzzling a good quarter of the container. There doesn't appear to be anything wrong with the water, or with Matrix after he drank it, but one never knows, in these Games.

He must practically read my thoughts, because he laughs, and shakes his head. "Legs, don't be so paranoid. Why would they have given us purifiers if they didn't work? Anyone who didn't get one will be poisoned. That's what they want, isn't it? For the well-stocked Careers, as usual, to have gotten the best supplies. Except that they were backwards this year."

He's right, and I know it. And he knows I know it. So there's nothing else to say; rather, I just fill my own bottle without taking a drink, and then exit the underbelly of the bridge and start towards where Sky and Frog sit, towing Matrix behind me.

A thin trail of smoke meanders it's way up into the sky, but it doesn't accumulate there, and certainly isn't enough to warn anyone else of our presence. Besides, it's still fairly dark out. And even if someone else did know we were here, I think Sky's sharpened shovel would be enough to keep them away.

The camp stove between them is roasting what look like five sandwiches. Well, used to be sandwiches. Now I think they're far past being overcooked, and are in danger of catching fire. The bread is so black, it looks more like coal than it does anything edible. The four slices of bread I can see from here, anyway, appear to have yellow cheese dripping down the sides as slowly as molasses.

And I know what the metallic smell is now, as well. The cheese keeps dripping after it reaches the end of the bottom half of bread, and into the grill of the stove. It must be burning up down there, creating the awful stench.

"What's all this?" Matrix asks, hesitation and a little disgust in his tone.

"Grilled cheese," I chuckle, although I have to wave a hand before my nose to rid it of the burning bread and metallic scent.

"Well I can see that," he mutters, leaning forward to peer down at one of the offending sandwiches. "But these are..."

"Inedible?" I murmur, so softly only he can hear me.

"Yes, that," he agrees behind his hand, before clearing his throat and stepping closer to the other two. "We have something else you could eat, because err... that seems a little... questionable."

"Please!" Frog exclaims, waving him off. "This is the best way to eat it! We won't have it any other way!"

From the look on Sky's face, I can guess he would have it another way, but I just chuckle, not willing to get in the middle of their little argument. "You can have ours, then," I laugh. "We'll just stick to the chicken and potatoes _we_ got."

Sky moans a little, in despair, I think, but I hear a smacking noise as I turn back to the bridge with Matrix, and Sky and Frog start bickering in earnest, then. Quietly, of course. We wouldn't want to draw in any predators. To the site that already reeks of burnt bread and cheese, where smoke now pours from the camp stove like it would off a volcano.

* * *

><p>Compared to the Capitol standards, breakfast was garbage- things pulled from the rubbish heap. But compared to what I'd expected my first meal in the arena to be like, this was a feast. I went to heaven at the first bite into the chicken, which had a succulent, bready flavor, rather than the thinner, richer taste the chicken at dinners in the Capitol had had. The crumbling bread crust disintegrated as soon as I bit into it, and I savored every morsel. This might well be the last warm meal I'd get.<p>

We'd opened the box with Blip, leaving Frog and Sky outside the bridge, not taking long to find instructions on how to heat the bag each food item was in. There wasn't any fire required, either! It fascinated me, really, although I had to pretend it didn't, for Blip, who apparently had had thousands of meals of this sort before. You just pulled a tab at the top of it, and something lit up inside like a miniature oven, and heated the contents of the bag.

And after figuring out how much we each could eat when the food was divided in three, we'd simultaneously decided it wasn't worth saving the extras. So we planned on stuffing ourselves with what we could, while we could.

I got one drumstick and a wing, Blip opted for the opposite set, and Matrix volunteered to eat the body. As for the potatoes, they turned out to be cooked sliced of fries, and disturbingly salty, but delicious all the same. They came in three packages, so it wasn't difficult to decide who got which. Mine are shaped like circles, Blip's were more like square-shaped pencils, and Matrix's were wavy and elongated, but shorter than Blip's.

None of us try the red sauce as we eat that is labeled tomato, for fear it will ruin the flavors of the other food. Frog asks for it after a few minutes though, and I toss it over to her without hesitation. Their charred cheese sandwiches probably needed another flavor anyway.

"It looks almost like they're protesting the consumption of good food," Blip muses beside me, a grin creeping across her face. "Doesn't it?"

I look to where the other two sit, outside the bridge, cross-legged and unhappily munching away on the blackened bread and cheese that makes up their breakfasts. Frog is frowning at Sky, and Sky is frowning at us, as though furious we didn't share our wealth of food with him. Which he probably is.

"It does," Matrix agrees with a short, barking laugh. "Oh, I'm going to keep this image in my mind for the rest of my life," he sighs, as he turns back to his food.

_Which might not be a prolonged amount of time,_ I think, but don't dare say so out loud.

Instead I reach over and take a sip from my water bottle- only distinguishable from Matrix's because his is lightly tinted pink, and mine is blue. It was so dark only a little while ago, I couldn't tell the difference. Not that it mattered to me anyway- I preferred blue. Let him have the pink for all I cared.

Suddenly a scuffling noise comes from outside the bridge, and a muffled yelp comes from a distinctly male voice. Another, from a distinctly female voice. Calling... a name?

Startled into dropping the water bottle, I have to struggle to catch it, before capping it tightly and dropping it to the bridge beside me as I lock eyes with Matrix. His irises seem larger in the dark. The look in his steely gray eyes tells me he's heard the same noise, and we both know what the noise means. Trouble.

I duck my head out from beneath the hole-riddled wood panel, and peer both directions searching for the source of the noise. It's gone, and so are Frog and Sky. The camp stove has also disappeared, and my stomach drops instinctively.

Matrix's hand clamps around my mouth and tugs me back into the shade of the bridge, and I don't even attempt to make him release me. A sense of foreboding has swept my body, forcing all emotion but stark terror from me like a sponge squeezed of water.

I start to move backwards when he doesn't, moving first one foot, then the other back, slowly, slowly... Blip does the same on the opposite side, retreating to beneath the center of the bridge. Only then do we hear it.

Footsteps, from the woods. About two pairs of them. Running right at us.  
>And... as if that wasn't bad enough, there are more of them now. I can't count them, obviously, but... it now sounds like a lot more than two people.<p>

My muscles tense and I lean back against Matrix, trying to fade into the wall behind him. He just removes his hand from my mouth and puts both on my shoulders comfortingly. I turn to see what he's thinking, but when his eyes meet mine, I'm startled again. He's grinning. _Grinning_. Like a complete idiot.

I frown, and open my mouth to rebuke him -in whispers, of course- when the first footsteps hit the bridge, and I freeze. But before I can even tense up for the third time in the last two minutes, the footsteps stop as a scream of pain comes from directly above us. A long, wailing, drawn-out scream of pain. Above us.

My breathing hitches in my throat, but before I can begin to pant in anxiety, Matrix's hands are on my hips, and he turns me to face him. My fingers scratch desperately at his firm hands, at the place he is touching me -oh, _why_ is he touching me- and my mind still racing a mile a minute, my breath starting to come out in panicked gasps. His hands being too busy keeping me in place, he just leans forward and presses his lips to mine to silence me.

Um... it works. Very well, really, considering I had been near to having a nervous breakdown moments ago. I... almost don't notice the rest of the footsteps reaching the bridge and more screaming, pleading, sobbing from above. _Almost_.

"Please... please don't do this," the same voice as before gasps, pleading with every ounce of breath he can recover from the dash he'd just made to make it on top of the bridge.

"Hmm, afraid we have to, Eleven," a rather bored-sounding female voice sighs. "You know how the Games work by now, surely? They do have schools in Eleven, right?"

There are several snickers following her blatant disrespect of the boy's district, both male and female.

Matrix pulls away slowly, and my hands shoot to his neck, so he won't push me away. Somehow -I think it was because I was trying too hard to be silent so I could listen to their conversation- my heart has calmed down a little, and my breathing has slowed to almost it's normal rate. I lock eyes with Matrix as they continue to laugh at their wittiness. If I look away... I don't know what I'll do. I just continue to stare into his eyes, thoroughly examining the expression he is now looking at me with.

"Besides, that bag you've got there looks pretty full..." A different male voice says thoughtfully. "It'd be a shame for it to stay with you, I mean... you're not going to need it much longer, I'm sure."

"Take it... you can have it," a female voice gasps, which I recognize as the one calling what I assume to be the boy's name now, and I can hear the soft thud of whatever their backpack contains hitting the surface of the bridge, muffled by the fabric of the container. "You can have it, just leave us alone, please..."

"Ahh, a tempting offer," A third female voice regales. "But I don't think we will, thanks." I know this voice, at least. And my stomach drops a good foot or two into my intestine track as I hear it. Pearl.

My eyes widen even further, and tears of fear begin to sting at the corners. I don't dare look away from Matrix, though. I don't know what I'd do. I don't know what _he'd_ do. But his face immediately darkens into a frown as he sees the stark terror in my eyes, and he removes his hands from my waist, wrapping them gently around my back and pulling me close, very close into his body.

There's the sound of more screaming from above, and I clench my hands into fists around his sweatshirt. He only pulls me closer, and places his hands over my ears, in a weak attempt to block the sounds from reaching me.

It... it doesn't help.

* * *

><p>The bridge... it...<br>It's _raining_ blood.  
>It's raining <em>blood<em>.  
><em>It's raining blood<em>.

And it's _been_ raining blood for... how many hours? It was so dark before, so blissfully, blissfully dark. But now I can see how light outside it is. And... I can see the blood better as it leaks into the stream between Blip and the pair of us. I can see how very pink the stream looks as it speeds away, happily bouncing and swirling back towards the giant lake near the Cornucopia.

But... at least they stopped screaming. Oh, yes, they stopped screaming a minute or two ago. But that doesn't stop their voices from echoing again and again in my mind... over and over like some sick tape set to repeat for the rest of eternity.

_"Please, no don't!"_

_"No, no don't hurt h-him!"_

_"Ah, AH! St-stop!"_

_"No, NO! Kill me! K-kill me instead!"_

_"N-no, Whey, don't, PLEASE!"_

_"Curd... Curd, I love you so much- AAH!"_

Their voices... those words... they will haunt me the rest of my life. The screaming... oh, God, the terrible, terrible screaming... Instinctively, my hands fly up to clap around my ears... Again.

Matrix, beside me, still has his eyes tight shut. Wordlessly, he takes me between his legs into his body again, and I just curl there, burying myself in his shirt, crying silently, waiting for it to end.

We can still hear their knives tearing flesh. Hear the blood splatter as it hits the surface of the bridge. Hear the ragged breathing of the two individuals who can't scream anymore because their God-only-knows-what has been cut out and they can't speak or scream, just gurgle wordlessly in their own blood. Maybe each other's blood as well.

The Careers always put on a good show for the Capitol. They always have. I suppose I was naive to think this year would be any different. If I ever thought this year would be any different. What did I think about this year? What did I think about anything? I can't remember what I've ever thought about anything except...

Except how dark Matrix's eyes get when he sees me in fear. How warm he is when he pulls me close and murmurs comforting things to me under his breath.  
>How pale Blip's olive face looks, and how her eyes lock on the leak in the bridge that is just beside her, and a few inches in front of her body. How the leak sounds when it hits the metal plate beneath her, and how all the other leaks sound when they hit the stream and spread out in the water, dying it pink.<p>

Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip.

Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip.

Drip. Drop. Drip. Drop. Drip.

Wait.

There was no "drop" in there before.

Was there?

I remove my hand from Matrix's knee for a moment, because it itches. My eyes are constantly locked on something, and at the moment I'm just watching the stream turn red. I itch my hand absentmindedly, as I watch the pink essence that is blood billow out when it hits the water. So graceful. Like smoke billowing out in the air.

There's something warm on my hand, though. I keep itching, and it keeps getting itchier. I want to just scratch the skin right off... But I know better than that. We don't have anything to disinfect it here. It's probably best to limit my preventable injuries until I can clean myself up.

It's only then I look down. My brain is so slow I hadn't even noticed I was still scratching while watching the pink water flow until it started to hurt. But... I wish I hadn't looked down. I hadn't... scratched myself _that_ badly, had I...?

M-my hand is... it's covered in... b-b... bl-bl...

_Blood_.

My hand is covered in blood. It's dripping off the appendage like crazy, running into my sleeve and off my fingertips onto Matrix's pants and onto the metal plate. And oh... there's so _much_ of it!

My breathing hitches again and before I can stop myself I'm scrabbling backwards away from my own hand, which is very unintelligent, and it's only Blip's extended foot that keeps me from falling into the stream between our two surfaces. Matrix is pulled over with my left hand as I go, but appearing to be too startled to do anything about it at the moment. I plunge my hand into the water, not thinking, not thinking at all, just knowing I have to get this liquid off of my hand, right now...

And more liquid drips onto my head.  
>Into my hair.<br>Down my neck.  
>On my arms.<br>All over my sweatshirt.

I have to scream, have to release the panic and disgust and upset, and roiling, roiling despair and terror in my stomach, but I can't. Matrix's hands have closed over my mouth again, only this time they close over my nose as well, and my vision begins to go fuzzy. My left hand is tugged up with his right hand, clamped over my nose, and I can't even think straight enough to tell that this shouldn't be happening.

My dazed body tries to defend itself, but I can't move, _can't move_ from my position. My weakened fingertips scrabble pitifully against his firm wrists, and I can't help but bring my eyes up to his in terror. Is he having a meltdown as well? Is he going to murder me? Will it be quick? A thousand answerless questions shoot through my poor abused mind before I lock eyes with him.

But... all the questions fly out the window as I see his face, while my vision begins to dim. He's looking at me with upset in his eyes, yes, but there's something else, that warm, so warm something else that I can't name. All I know is that my body relaxes, and my eyes shut as the last of my oxygen disappears, and my world fades to black.

* * *

><p><em>~HAYMITCH'S PERSPECTIVE~<em>

I look away from the screen. I can't watch this any longer. I know what's beneath the bridge, and I know what's above the bridge. And by the pink water that issues from the opposite side, I know what's leaking into the underside of the bridge.

A piece of one of the District Eleven tributes' stomachs lands in the stream and floats slowly down towards the lake, bobbing beneath the already-pink water as it goes. I don't even have to swallow the bile anymore. I lost my lunch a few minutes ago. Not like there was much of it to begin with.

Standing, I turn away from the television, and look out the window opposite it, running my fingers through my unkempt hair. This was a bad idea. This was a very bad idea.

Katniss comes up beside me, looking up, carefully trying to gauge my emotions. I'm not letting her see any of them right now. Don't plan on it. I don't even look down to acknowledge her presence. I just look out the glass box, down into the crowds camping cheerfully in their miniature homes-on-wheels, only temporary places of residence for the Capitol citizens.

I try to distract myself as the gurgling starts up again by trying to guess what could be in those boxes the Captiol people live in for this period of time. Televisions, certainly, so they can see what's going on, but still say they were at the site of the Games when they happened. Probably a full bathtub or two, an entire bedroom, and maybe a private chef or a food-producer. Can't have the Capitol people without their comforts.

"Haymitch?" Katniss' voice comes to me, softly.

"Not now," I growl.

"Haymitch..." she chides.

"I SAID NOT _NOW!_" I growl, slamming my hand onto the table beside me, making the vase fall off of it, in a cascade of water droplets and glass shards as it hits the hard marble floor.

Ignoring her shocked gasp, I stride quickly back to the television and force myself to watch it. I have to watch it. I have to see if she's alright.

And of course, as though the Capitol can read my mind, and is once again toying with me, it switches into the post-killing repeat. I sigh in frustration but search beneath the darkness of the bridge, searching for any sign of Rina or Matrix.

There's a glimpse of something just beneath the bridge, around the center, just seconds after the dying tributes' screams stop, but I can't see more than that. I don't know that I would want to see more than that either way. I don't know what they're going through. I don't know that I want to see their faces to tell me.

...No, not _their_ faces. Just Rina's. I need to see how badly I've hurt this girl. Mentally and physically.

The fates must be shining down upon me when, as soon as the recap ends, the camera cuts to one nearly beneath the bridge. The remains have been removed now. I can only see part of it, because the camera is far away, but I can see enough to tell that the District Three girl with them sits on this side of the bridge, and a lump of a person -or perhaps two- is curled on the opposite. The District Fours are nowhere in sight, but I don't really care.

But... what I do care about is the fact that almost every surface beneath the bridge is coated in slick red blood. Including the people. There are red streaks decorating the dark-haired girl's face, and her sweatshirt is soaked, darkened with the scarlet substance. It almost looks like she's shaking.

The lump-person moves then, and finally I can see what I've been looking for. It was indeed two people; Matrix and Rina. In that order. Because I can see even from here that she's passed out in Matrix's arms. However, her lack of consciousness doesn't stop the clench in my stomach when I see that she's even more blood-covered than the Three girl.

What did she _do_ to get that covered in it? _Swim_ in the stuff? My mind comes to a screaming halt as I think for a moment- she didn't bleed that all herself, did she? But no, I heave a sigh of relief as my question is answered for me a moment later.

"We'll need to get her washed off," Matrix says softly. I'm certain we can only hear him because of the microphone implanted in his arm; a new feature as of this year. "She wouldn't want to wake up in their... their blood."

The District Three girl just nods her agreement, before crawling to the center of the two metal plates, and dipping her legs into the water before sliding in all the way. You can see the blood just pouring off her clothing as the water reaches up to her waist, just like smoke would off a giant fire, swirling away in clouds ten times the size of the actual fire.

But she offers her hands to Matrix, who carefully passes off the unconscious girl to the conscious one. He retains his grip on Rina's hands as the Three girl lowers her into the water, but once he appears to be certain she's in good hands, he turns, his hand still connected to hers by the cuff, and starts wiping the blood off the metal plates with his sleeves.

The announcers start discussing what they'd seen, and wondering how Rina lost consciousness, but I've since retreated to the recesses of my own mind. Rina was under that bridge the whole time. Hearing the screams. Getting their blood on her body. Knowing they were dying, and she couldn't do a thing about it. There were four of the Careers anyway; I'm sure the three of them knew they wouldn't have been able to do anything about it.

"Haymitch?" Peeta's voice asks gently from behind me.

I ignore him, crossing behind the couch to head to the wine bottle the Capitol attendants brought us. I'm not allowed my good liquor, no, but this should do for now. Maybe.

I look down at the remote control I have in my hand before pouring myself a glass. This is what saves and takes lives in the arena. This controls their gifts from sponsors. All the prices are listed on one side, and a picture of the item and it's name is on the other. The prices now aren't too bad at all. I know if I can just get them something good early on, they'll do well... but they've done so well so far, I don't know that they need it. They have weapons, they have shelter, and they have allies.

What more can I give them? More importantly, what can I give them that will help at all? That they can use in the future, when I won't be able to afford to send it to them anymore? My finger hovers above the screen for an instant, before I select two of the gifts, and hit send.

I turn to the television screen while uncorking the wine bottle, and wait to see the screen flash to their perspective as it does whenever sponsor gifts are given.

The camera is attached to the silver parachute, so I can look down at the brown bundle as it floats from side to side, down to Earth, down to my tributes. It lands in the clear side of the water that flows beneath the bridge, and for a few seconds there is only watery chaos in the camera's vision. But I know they will catch it, either they will or the corner of that metal plate will, because they were only _just_ in the water.

I'm proved right an instant later, when the camera is righted, as though someone is examining the package. The view switches back to the outside camera, and now I can clearly see what's happening beneath the bridge.

Matrix is supporting Rina in the water now, holding her up carefully as the Three girl holds the package up, searching for a District number. "Twelve," she finally says, her face puckering a little. "It's yours."

Matrix's eyes widen a little, but he takes the package from her and passes Rina into her waiting arms as he uses one hand to place it on the metal plate to unwrap it. His right hand is still suspended to Rina's left hand behind him, so he uses only his left to separate the brown material.

Just inside sit two thermal jackets; the kind that keep out the water and the cold, with a pair of grippy gloves, one set for the both of them. Inside of that is a simple, black box. I watch the boy open it cautiously, and I can't help but grimace a little as he whoops loudly open seeing the contents. The box contains a first aid set; bandages, cleaning alcohol, burn salve, infection-preventing medication, and everything else they might use for minor wounds, down to headache pills and stomach-relaxants.

I rise, intending to go to my room to use the bathroom, and catch sight of Katniss and Peeta eyeing each other uncertainly, and I can just imagine what they're thinking. They're wondering if because I sent my tributes something, they ought to as well. Katniss raises her remote to her face, scanning the list carefully as I exit the room. I just smirk. It's wrong, and I know it. I am shortening the lives of Pasquale and Theo with every word I don't say. With every time I don't correct something they do, that I know could be done better. I can't exactly advise them... everything they do right is essentially my doing something wrong.

Because I want Rina to come home alive.

_~End Haymitch's Perspective~_

* * *

><p>"Matrix," I gasp, sitting bolt upright, shivers wracking my body and my face flushed. I can feel the burn of fever in my cheeks and forehead. My mouth is parched, and my throat sore from what I can only guess is disuse. Beads of either water or sweat drip down my forehead, into my eyes, and I rub furiously at my soaked skin, trying to remove the uncomfortable sensation.<p>

I pull my hands away when an unfamiliar material scrapes against the skin, and simply stare down at my hands, startled to find them covered in black material. My wrist is also encased in some sort of clothing I don't remember putting on. It appears to be a jacket of some sort, with a zipper up my left arm so that I can take it off even with the handcuffs, already half undone, but I don't trust it, and with the temperature my body is at right now, I can't stand to leave it on for another second.

Desperately, almost ferally, I tear the jacket from my arms, after fumbling with both zippers for a good ten seconds. It takes only a moment to rip it from my body and hurl it onto the other side of the bridge, and the gloves quickly follow suit. I wrap my arms around my legs, pressing my body back into the wall of the bridge, shivering as I adjust to the frigid air around me.

It takes a few moments for my surroundings to truly register in my mind, and when it all clicks, I gasp. It's dark outside again; that makes this what, night time on the third day? I can't keep track of the time in my mind. I don't know what day it was when I went out. For all I know it's been two days, or seven, and maybe I'm one of the last tributes alive. The thought clutches at my heart, squeezing in a painful manner I can't ignore. I gasp, and then the tears begin to roll down my face. Where is everyone? Where is _Matrix_? What's going on?

There's a startling burst of light, and then blinding blackness, before my eyes peel open, slowly, carefully. Now it looks more like daytime than night. I blink several times, and gasp a little as a drop of water lands on my cheek. I reach up to press my hand to the spot, but find it stopped; by the white cuff. My eyes trail down my arm to the hindering plastic, and then up the conjoined match, up Matrix's firm arm, and to his face. His gray eyes stare worriedly down at me, but his visage notably relaxes when my eyes meet his.

"You were having a nightmare," he explains quickly, as I sit up. I wonder why he's hurrying, until I realize I've been laying on his lap. "I didn't want to just let you sit through it. You woke me up, you were tossing and turning so bad."

"I'm... sorry," I yawn, bringing my right hand up to cover my mouth. I find the jacket from my dream isn't on my arm, and neither is my sweatshirt. I have to struggle to remember what happened, because it's all fuzzy shapes at the moment. "What...?" I begin to ask.

"I had to put you out," he sighs, interrupting me. "You were going to scream, I just knew it. But we cleaned most of it off of you, and Haymitch sent us jackets," he continues, gesturing across the metal plates of the underside of the bridge to the opposite one, where a crumpled black pile of fabric sits. "You were burning up with fever and I didn't know what else to do, so I took it off. If you're cold, I'll get it again..."

"No, I'll be fine," I assure him quickly, even then wrapping my arms around my body, in a feeble attempt to conserve heat. "But... if we could just...?" I suggest sheepishly.

"Yeah, of course," he mumbles, grinning as he takes me into his arms, rubbing some of the heat back into my shoulders and curling his hands around my skin protectively. "I'm just irresistible like that," he jokes.

"In your dreams," I casually remark, but inside me, my heart is already beating desperately, wanting more warmth, more comfort from him.

"Who says we're not dreaming right now?" He chuckles, mussing his hair with one hand, as he leans back against the metal back of the bridge and pulls me closer to him. "Maybe we are. Maybe we'll wake up, back in District 12, and everything will be normal again."

"I wish..." I sigh.

"Speaking of wishes," he interrupts me abruptly. "Blip went out to look for Frog and Sky a little while ago. Once it started getting dark. We think they had to hide from the Careers, when they left, and kept getting pushed farther back into the woods." He pauses, before adding, with a slight sneer, "She said she'd get something to eat, while she was out there. Took that thing she made with her partner's jacket,"

"You don't think it will work?" I ask, frowning.

"No," he scoffs, his visage growing angry. "I think it will. That's part of the problem. I saw her working on it. Just because I'm not emotionally stable enough to handle the machinery in the mines doesn't mean I didn't learn how to use it. She knew what she was doing. One shock with that thing..." he trails off darkly.

"What are we going to do about them?" I mutter, beneath my breath. "We can't just stay with them forever..."

"You think I don't know that?" he murmurs. "I'm working on it. But for right now, we need to make sure you're alright, and whether or not one of them is going to get knocked off before we reach the halfway point."

I gasp, as the realization strikes me. I've been out for, what, a night? "Who else died while I was out?" I ask quickly.

"Huh? Oh, both of the Nine boys. I saw one of them up on the screen last night, and the other was a couple of hours after dawn, and we saw a few of the Careers go after him. Ran right over the bridge. The screams a couple of minutes later pretty much gave it away." Matrix says, casually waving off my query. "There's still more than half of us, I can assure you of that. Anyway, you'll probably want a fever pill?" he asks, looking down sheepishly. "I would have given you one sooner, but you were unconscious."

"We have those?" I ask, temporarily stunned by the new information.

"Haymitch," Matrix says matter-of-factly. "They came with the jackets. Another little first-aid kit. His is better than the one we got, though."

"Oh," I say intelligently.

Matrix reaches into the box, his hand searching around for a second, before he finds what he's looking for. A tiny bottle of pills, made of transparent red plastic. He twists the cap off, and rolls one of them onto his palm before balancing the bottle precariously on the surface of his hand as well. With his other hand he reaches behind him, taking my water bottle and removing the cap to that with his teeth. He hands me the bottle of water, and caps the pills before dropping the single pill into my right palm.

I blink down at it, startled. From what my mother's told me, after the minor fever epidemic in District Twelve last summer, these are the best pills the Capitol has to offer. A tiny blue ovular capsule, with a red stripe in the center. I don't remember the name, but does it matter?

I pop the cap off the water, and take a large sip, before holding my head anchored back slightly, to drop the pill into my mouth. I swallow just once, hard, and I feel the pill go spiraling down my throat.

"You can go back to sleep," Matrix suggests. "Probably better that way, just to let the pill work. You know I'll wake you up if anything happens."

"I'm fine," I assure him, trying to push myself up to sit higher. "I'll just-"

"Go to sleep," he growls suddenly, and his hand forces my shoulder back down to sit against him. "I _said_ I'll wake you if anything happens."

I whimper, the pressure on my shoulder painful, but allow myself to be dragged back down to his side, and I breathe through my nose so he doesn't hear the increase in volume of my breathing, resulting from the speeding of my heart rate. "Alright," I murmur, somehow managing to keep my voice level. "I'll... I'll just go to sleep..."

I close my eyes when he leans forward to check my features, and try to slacken my jaw. Only when I hear the crinkling of his jacket as he leans back, do I open them again. I'm too numb to cry- the fever and the shivering, and now Matrix isn't himself again.

I don't sleep until he falls asleep himself first.

* * *

><p>Someone shakes me awake, and I blink a few times, trying to adjust to the darkness. I glance to the side, and find that Matrix is still fast asleep. Is it night time? Who...?<p>

Looking to my right, I see Blip's face, and she is crouched beside me beneath the bridge. She presses a finger to her lips, and gestures to Matrix. I frown, and shrug, and she mimics waking up from some sort of sleep. I nod, comprehending. I don't dare question our state of silence. Who knows what's out there right now?

Turning back to Matrix, I tap his shoulder, and when that fails to wake him, I just shove him over by the shoulder. It takes a moment, but he slumps over slowly, before landing with a soft thud onto the metal plate. He startles awake then, and stares up at Blip and I with wild eyes. I can see his mouth begin to open, probably to ask us what we're doing, but Blip and I both make shushing motions. His eyes harden, and he runs a hand through his hair in a vain attempt to rearrange it to its former slicked position. Whatever fat or grease he had in it has since run out.

I move into a crouch, and rub my eyes to try and wake myself up a little more. My body feels like lead, but I stretch my arms a bit -and almost bump Matrix in the face- and feel better. My swords... or, poles now, I suppose, are in my hands and I crawl out from beneath the bridge after Blip, and Matrix follows close behind, his belt of knives still at his waist.

I can't quite tell if it's late at night or early morning, but either way, it's pitch black outside the bridge. I think the water did something to reflect moonlight around the metal plates of the bridge, but out here there is only the sliver of moon that is in the sky to guide us. I can barely see a few feet in front of my body, and I'm surprised Blip even found her way back here. She takes a step forward, and I go to follow her once Matrix is upright, but trip over an incline in the ground I didn't see.

Frowning, I press one of my metal poles into the ground for support, and then the other. As Blip continues, I feel at the ground with the tips of the rods, and find it suddenly much easier to move across this uneven terrain.

Blip leads us around the right side of the bridge, looking every direction into what little she can see of the woods as though she fears we're being followed. I hear the rustle of fabric just behind me, and whirl around, only to find Matrix slipping his black bag over his shoulder. Mine is in his other hand, and I take it with a grateful nod. I slip it over one shoulder, and while examining the other strap, realize there's a clip on the left one. I open the clip and then close it again, locking the bag over both my shoulders as Blip leads us past the bridge and further into the arena.

"Where are we going?" I ask her, beneath my breath.

"We saw another tribute," she responds, almost too quiet for my ears to pick up. "We're going to get them."

"Who?" Matrix whispers, falling into step between Blip and I.

"I dunno, some girl," she shrugs. "Shh,"

There are forests on either side of us, and she leads us away from the stream after a time, and just into the foliage. There are no leaves on the ground, or else I would put my former-swords away. For right now, I think I'll keep them out. After walking in the forested area for only a few minutes they saved me from tripping three different times- two roots and a rock.

My night vision improves just a little, and I expect Blip has had time to get hers up and working. Matrix is probably more used to this forest-stalking at night thing than I am, because I feel so very loud compared to the both of them. It's hard to see the ground, and harder to differentiate between inset rocks and roots and the ground itself. When I get a little more confident in my ability to move without even watching where my poles go, I look up, and try to examine the trees. They're all different; a few maples here and there, but there are so many I've never even heard of. None, though, of those rough-barked, 6-leaved fern-like trees I saw on the way here.

It's when I see something a little different on one of the trees that I pause, and Matrix stops as well to see what I'm looking at. I'm not entirely certain, but it looks like a patch of mushrooms on this tree. Colors are showing even less in here under the leaves of the trees than they did in the open moonlight, so I can't be sure, but they look red. A big patch of them sits at about eye level on a sugar maple just four feet or so to my left.

"What, Legs?" Matrix asks. "They're just mushrooms. Come on, Blip is already ahead of us."

"But..." I hesitate. "Alright," I follow him after a moment, continuing to search the ground with the tips of my swords, and somehow managing not to stumble the whole way. Something nags at my memory about those mushrooms, though. I feel like I should know what they are and don't. They're familiar and not at the same time, but I just can't place from where. But for right now I suppose I won't worry myself with yet another thing I really don't need to.

"Oh," Matrix gasps, and I look up, startled.

I am instantly stunned into silence- yes, this is gasp-worthy. The forest ends into an enormous stretch of grain. What kind, I couldn't tell you if I tried, but it is neck-high and waving back and forth in the light wind. The tiny seed-like shapes at the top of each thin stalk make me wonder if they are generic wheat or something else, but the question doesn't nag at me for long. Because the grain is moving in a different direction just ten feet away from us.

I brandish my poles, ready to strike whoever it is, and Matrix does the same, drawing a knife from his belt. The rustling stops though, and a familiar head pops up out of the field.

"Hi there!" Frog says cheerfully, waving at us. Sky's head quickly rises above the grain as well, and he gives us a dreamy smile too.

"Shh!" Blip admonishes her, and Frog claps a hand to her mouth, her eyes widening. "Where did she go?"

"Oh, we lost her," Sky sighs, brushing his hair out of his face dramatically. "Because Frog decided it would be fun to try to catch them."

"You idiot!" Blip cries, swiping Frog a quick blow to the side of her head. "You should have... got her! Jumped her and killed her! Something! Anything!"

"She doesn't even have any weapons!" Frog complains, rubbing at her head sourly.

"It doesn't matter! She could make some!" Blip rants, waving her hands about as she spins in a circle, and begins to scan the wheat field again.

"Well at this point I don't think it matters, because I'd say anyone within thirty feet has heard us by now," Matrix says dryly.

"So?" Frog asks loudly.

"Frog!" Sky and Blip groan in unison.

I hear a branch crack behind me, and I whirl around, barely in time to see a flash of green and brown as a tribute wearing the same sweatshirt as us brandishes a sword, before bringing it down on Matrix's back. I stumble backwards in my shock, and accidentally pull Matrix down with me. Either Blip or Frog screams, and I hear the scrape of Sky's shovel, probably his removing it from the ground where he placed it only seconds before.

The sword drops slowly; and I can see exactly where it will land and slice open Matrix's bag. Of course it only appears to be moving so slowly because of the adrenaline now pumping through my veins. My heart hammers desperately as I can do nothing but watch while the blade lowers towards its target, and Matrix drops the last few inches his hands had kept him from the ground. It's only just reached a few inches above the bag when there's a thud, and a metallic ringing, and the attacker topples to the right, before rushing to their feet and scrambling off into the woods.

"What..." I start to say.

I look over to my left, where the shovel now in my vision came from, and see Sky with both hands around the handle, and panting as he lets it sink to the ground. Frog has one arm pulled awkwardly after Sky's, but she stands staring after the strange tribute in the woods with the rest of us, as confused as myself. Blip's mouth is hanging open, and Matrix rolls over with a look of astonishment plastered on his face, and just stares as incomprehension after the retreating girl.

I turn back to follow her path with my eyes, and blink a few times as I watch her stumble against the side of a tree, and smudge her hand against a patch of bright red... which I know rests at eye level on a sugar maple.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** ...so, yeah. If you have ideas, either drop a review or a PM, (I'd love to get either!) on what you're thinking! If you're serious about it, I can fill you in on what I'm planning with the rest of this, because at the moment, I have a plan for the ENTIRE rest of the story, but no way to connect it to... THIS. Please please please tell me what you're thinking, you guys! I honestly don't care how awkward it feels to leave a review, I know how it is, but seriously, I had a crap day, and I just need someone to tell me I've done _something_ right. xD I feel like a life failure right about now.


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